Amnesia
by nerdyninjaunicorn
Summary: Christine awakes after suffering an injury to her head only to find her memories gone and an eccentric yet doting husband. But is everything as it seems? And why is the vicomte pursuing her so? Time will only tell.
1. Chapter 1

_"I am like Don Juan, am I not?"_

 _ **CRACK**_

 _"Christine!"_

* * *

She was swimming in the darkness, desperately searching for the light- she never liked the dark, it always left too much to the imagination- when she heard the Voice. That divine, heavenly Voice. _"Christine."_ Eagerly, she followed the Voice. She knew it was to be her salvation from this odd purgatory. _"Christine."_

Her eyes flew open, and she was met with more darkness, sadly, but there was the faint glow of candlelight. Her limbs felt heavy. A man was sitting beside her- she seemed to be in a bed- and he wore a strange white mask that covered his whole face. A pair of yellow eyes came from two holes. "You are awake," he said softly, "Good. I was beginning to worry, my dear." It was the voice, the voice that had saved her.

"Where am I?" She asked, her voice sounding very childlike. "Who are you?"

The man gave her a strange look. "Pardon?" He spoke French.

She tried again. "Who are you?"

He blinked, but seemed to understand. "You do not remember?"

"No," she said hesitantly, looking around. "Where am I, monsieur?" She looked around her surroundings, but it was hard to make out the rest of the rest of the room as it had morphed into the darkness.

"Oh, dear," the man moaned in dismay, "You do not remember, do you?"

"No, I don't," she said, anxiety growing. "Please tell me!"

"Do you remember anything?" The man asked pleadingly. He sounded so...broken.

"I don't even know my own name, monsieur!" She had the urge to cry. "Is it Christine? Did you call me Christine? Is that my name, monsieur? I heard you say it!"

The man nodded, clearly shaken. "I- yes. You are my Christine."

There was something calming in that sentence. "Who are you then? I am terribly sorry," she said, not wishing to offend this man, "but I do not remember anything."

The man paused, as if pondering something. "I am Erik," he told her slowly, not meeting her searching gaze.

The name brought forth no memories. "I am afraid I don't remember you, Erik, not at all," she confessed. "Perhaps it's because I cannot properly see your face. The ma-" she stopped as he openly flinched. She had clearly hit a nerve. _Oh, dear._ "How do I know you, then?" Christine asked gently. "Are you my brother, perhaps? You aren't my father, since you introduced yourself by your first name..."

"I...I am your husband."

It was as if he'd had to choke out the words. How in pain he must be, having his own wife not recognize him! "Oh, Erik, I am sorry!" Christine exclaimed, launching herself towards him to wrap him into a hug. However, he quickly pulled away, standing up. "Oh," she said, feeling foolish and...rejected. Although she recognized the feeling, it was one she was unaccustomed to.

"Forgive me, my darling," Erik said hastily, "We took rather a tumble earlier, and I am still very sore."

"A tumble..."

"Yes," Erik stated, "we fell down a flight of stairs. I managed to come out of the deal unscathed, save for a few bruises. You, however, did not fare so well."

"What happened, then?"

"You hit your head. It was quite an ordeal, and you have a nasty cut on the back of your head, but it shall not scar."

Christine's hands instantly went to feel for it when suddenly a leather-clad hand that felt like mere bones, but had a surprisingly tight grip, latched onto her wrist tightly. "Don't touch it!" Erik warned, almost dangerously, "I spent quite a bit of time stitching it, and I do not want you tearing it open. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded frantically, looking up at her husband, whose yellow eyes were blazing. "Good," he said, dropping her hand. It was now when she truly could examine his full body, which was difficult considering he wore all black attire and blended in with the dark quite well, but she could see how thin he was. Actually, thin was putting it kindly. The man was all protruding bones, jutting out. It was almost unhealthy.

"Erik, don't you eat?" She asked timidly, certainly hoping her husband would not drop down dead at any possible moment.

The man standing above her began laughing loudly, causing her to jump. "Oh, my dear, did I scare you? I am sorry. But you have no need to worry about your Erik."

"Why shouldn't I? You are my husband," she said, tasting the words on her mouth, the sound so very foreign to her.

"Yes. Erik is your husband. And he shall take care of his wife. You have not eaten for many hours, Christine. You need nourishment. I shall prepare a meal for you. Do not get out of bed, under any circumstances," he said warningly, before walking towards the door that Christine had failed to notice.

Panic gripped her. "But what shall I do? I don't want to be alone in the dark, Erik!" She cried, near hysteria.

"Hush, my darling. Your Erik shall be back soon, he will bring you water in a minute or so."

"But Erik-" she protested.

"Rest. It is all you can do. Erik shall be back in a moment, do not worry," Erik said soothingly, his voice magicking the fears away, rendering her into a state of calmness. She allowed her eyes to drift shut, if not for just a second...

"Falling asleep already?" Christine jolted, eyes snapping open, her heart pounding in her chest. Erik was leaning casually in the doorway, holding a glass of water. "This is yours, madame."

She reached out, accepting it, and raised the glass to her lips, ignoring the chill on the glass. As she tasted the liquid, she began gulping it ravenously, suddenly realizing how parched she had been until the glass was empty. "May I have some more?" She asked, almost embarassedly, knowing Erik had witnessed it all. "Please?" She added.

"Perhaps in a moment. I do not want to you growing ill because you drank it too quickly."

"I suppose you're right," she tried to say without sighing. "Will you come sit with me, please? I...I am still so confused. I would like some answers."

"Your meal...it will be ready in a few minutes..."

"Please, Erik?"

He let out a sigh. "I cannot deny you anything," he said wearily, and she held in a squeal of delight. He sat on the bed, the pressure from his body sagging the mattress ever so slightly. "What do you wish to know?"

"How long have we been married?" She asked, gazing at her husband curiously.

"For almost a month I believe. Today is the sixteenth, therefore our one month anniversary was only four days ago," Erik said, calculating the date in his head, and she smiled.

"So we've no children, then?" She sighed with relief.

"No. And thank heavens for that!"

"I don't know if I could handle the responsibility of a _child_ , considering I am just becoming used to idea of a husband," she said, laughing slightly, and he chuckled with her.

"Yes. To say we are not ready for children is the biggest understatement of the century!"

She giggled, raising a hand to cover her mouth, already growing fond of this man. A flash of gold distracted her. "Oh!" She exlaimed, looking at her fourth finger to find a simple gold band. "My wedding ring."

"Yes," Erik murmered, "I am only sorry that I cannot find one more luxerious."

"No...it's beautiful. I love it, I really do." She marvelled at the ring, completely transfixed by the image of the gold contrast against her painfully pale hand. The simplicity of it was oddly mesmerizing. A lump was forming in her throat. "This does not seem real," she muttered to herself.

Erik's eyes flashed. "What did you say?" He asked lowly, defensively.

Christine felt a peal of laughter pass through her lips effortlessly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just talking to myself."

"Do you not believe your Erik?" There was a threatning edge to his voice, and he was glaring at her. "Do you think he is a liar?"

"What? No, I- It's just so strange, seeing a ring on my hand. It's almost too good to be true that I would wake up to a doting husband," she said weakly, trying to assure him. She was relieved to see his muscles relax, not nearly so tense.

"Oh. I see. Forgive me, my darling. I...I happen to have a bit of a temper, and I am...sensitive about certain things."

"Like the...?" Christine let the question linger and she briefly gestured to his face- or rather, the mask that obscured her vision from it.

He nodded, seeming unable to reply.

"I am sorry, Erik."

He rose from the bed. "Your meal is nearly ready, I think. I ought to go fetch it for you," he said stiffly, barely looking at Christine, all but running from the room.

A pang of loneliness struck Christine in her chest as he shut the door. Wonderful. She had stitches in her head, no memories, and a husband she had managed to upset within an hour of gaining consciousness. She turned onto her stomach and letting her face fall into the pillow, and let out a long groan. _Just my luck. At least I think. Oh, what would I know? I know practically nothing about myself!_

Erik returned soon enough, a steaming bowl in his hands. "Do you think you are well enough to feed yourself?" He inquired dryly.

"Erik, I am sorry," Christine whispered, "Please don't be angry with me. I should not have said anything-"

"There is no need to apologize. You had to know. And I am not angry with you, my dear girl, it...it is merely that this mask of mine is not a topic I enjoy discussing. Now," he said, evidently trying show he was not cross with her by adopting a lighter tone of voice, "do you think you can feed yourself, or should I assist you?"

"I drank my water well enough," Christine felt a bit defensive, not liking the new patronzing tone, "I am certainly sure I can handle it."

"Very well." Erik handed the bowl to her, and the warmth of the bowl reminded Christine how cold she was, even with the layer of blankets. "Would you like more water?"

"Yes, please," Christine lifted the spoon up close to her lips on what she had discovered was broth. "Thank you, Erik."

"I am your humble servant. Do not hesitate to ask anything of me, my dear," he reached for the glass. "I shall be back soon."

The door clicked softly as Christine took another spoonful of broth. The warmth was pleasant, and her stomach was clearly pleased by the development of the broth. Christine wondered idly when it was they fell...how it was they fell...it seemed quite strange. How often was it that couples simultaneously fell down stairs?

Erik had returned once more. "How is your dinner?"

"It is very nice. Thank you again, Erik."

"May I?" He gestured to the side of her bed. She nodded. How curious it was he would ask permission for something so simple!

"I am glad you enjoy it," he told her lowly, "You are already looking much better. The color is returning to your cheeks."

"Your voice is lovely. I hadn't found the time to tell you, but is." She smiled shyly at him, suddenly aware of the fact he had been intently observing her as she ate her meal.

"You have told me many times before," he remarked, seeming almosty sad. "Then again, I could say the same for you. You wouldn't remember it, obviously, but you are a singer."

"I am?" She gasped, taken aback. "But I can't be!"

"And why not?"

"Why, I am just a simple girl, aren't I? But, of course," she said hastily, "you meant as a hobby, didn't you? For entertaining guests and such."

Erik shook his head, almost seeming amused. "No. You professionally sing opera."

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Impossible! You surely jest!"

"I do not, my dear."

"I am...an opera singer," she said breathlessly, a smile forming. "This is too good to be true. I must have had a very good teacher."

"You do indeed," Erik said seriously, but his eyes held an element of mischievousness. "He is a rather handsome man," he added, almost morbidly.

Christine grinned. "You are my teacher, aren't you?"

"That I am."

Christine let out a noise of delight. "How wonderful! So that is how you and I met? Through our lessons?"

"We did," Erik said fondly, looking at Christine with the utmost affection.

Christine sighed. "How romantic!"

He chuckled again.

For the most part, they talked of nothing but music. Strangely enough, it seemed that she remembered almost everything about music, and Erik had even suggested that she partake in a lesson the next day if she was doing well, which excited her. "Amnesia does not affect your intelligence, my dear," Erik told her when she voice her confusion over her musical knowledge.

When the broth was gone and she was draining her glass for the last drops of water, Erik collected the dishes from her. "Now, my darling, it is time you rest."

She stifled a groan. "But I'm not tired."

"It is good for your health if you go back to sleep," he told her seriously, "you have suffered an excessive amount of trauma-"

"Could you sing to me then?" She drew the blankets closer to herself. "Your voice is so soothing...I just thought..."

"That is a splendid idea," Erik said, and she could hear the smile. "Do you have any songs in mind?"

"Um...I don't know..." Christine stammered awkwardly, not prepared and Erik's eyes widened.

"Oh, forgive me! I...it has become a habit of mine, you see, to ask!" He sounded so pained by his blunder, so distressed. "Of course you would not remember?"

"Oh, no, Erik, don't feel bad. Here," she scooched over. "Lay down here, next to me, and pick your song."

He eyes the spot hesitantly. "Are you sure?" It was as if he could not quite believe her.

She frowned. "You are my husband. Surely we share a bed...?"

"Well, yes, of course," he clarified with haste, "but I rarely sleep. I spend my nights composing."

"That cannot be healthy," she told him with disapproval, clearly not impressed.

"It probably is not," he agreed, "but I am used to it."

She sighed. "I suppose there is no chance of me convincing you otherwise, is there?"

Erik shook his head in the negative whilst saying, "I am afraid not."

"Oh, well. Rome was not built in a day. Now, lay down and sing to me, at least."

"Very well," Erik said reluctantly, and awkwardly sat before laying down and turning to the side, and Christine followed suit, scooching closer until he noticably flinched.

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

"No, that's quite alright. Don't move," he commanded her.

"If...if you wish to hold me, I will not object," she told him.

"If you are sure..."

"I am." _What sort of marriage do the two of us have if he is so hesitant? No wonder there is no children!_ Her cheeks flushed just as Erik's arm wrapped around her waist in a maladroit fashion.

For the first time since she had met him- or at least, since she had awoken- she could smell him. It was a stale, empty sort of scent; as if something had just left and flown away. She instantly disliked it, but found the prospect of forcing his arm away cruel, so she merely buried her nose into the pillow.

Then, softly, Erik began to sing to her. The language was Italian, she noted dimly, but his voice was so calming, so smooth, that Christine felt her eyelids growing heavy. Once the song was over, Erik whispered, "Are you quite tired now?"

Christine tried to speak but all she could manage was a moan. Erik laughed. "I will take that as a yes. Goodnight, my Angel. I love you." Much to Christine's surprise, she felt a pair of lips kiss her cheek. As soon as Erik had shut the door, she frantically brought a hand up to her cheek. Yes, it was dampening and growing cold...he had kissed her!

Christine smiled contentedly and let her hand fall to her side. How blessed she was, to wake up with a husband that loved her.

* * *

Amnesia.

This could go two ways; either very good or very bad. Well, for him, at least. Erik shut the medical book, a feeling of elation swelling within him.

For one, there was a probability that instead of total amnesia, she was merely suffering a concussion and would wake up with her memories returned, including the lies he had just spewed at her. That is, of course, that she retained anterograde amnesia, and then life would return to what it was.

However, if she did not regain her memories, there was a change she would not remember anything from before her fall, and he could keep the façade up as long as he kept his temper in check and she stayed away from the mask.

He hated lying to her, and the guilt was coming from more than one place, but how happy she seemed! She was growing to love him! Even when he'd grown a bit boorish, she still cared for him! She had allowed him to lay beside her and wrap his arm around her and did not object his kiss! She was growing to love him, he was sure of it! This was the one thing that would make them both happy.

Now that she was fast asleep, he had time to perfect his story. And if she wanted to go back upstairs- which he would only consent to if she still sounded as perfect as she always had- he would have to construct a story to explain the fop's presence.

Perhaps it is wrong, to lie to someone in such a vulnerable state of mind, but as long as it did not hurt anybody, Erik could not see it as a sin. Not when it made him so happy. He finally had his wife. His lovely, perfect, living wife.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! This is my first out of hopefully many contributions to POTO! I became obsessed with the fanfiction a while back in March and have been writing my own. This, I would say, is dramatically different that everything else I have been writing, and I would love some feedback, and I always appreciate CC. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter is admittedly not my favorite, as it does not serve much purpose to the plot, but it is sort of lighthearted, in weird way. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited, it means a lot to know that people are reading this and enjoying it.**

* * *

By the time Christine had reawaken, the candle on her nightstand had burned out completely and she was in total darkness. Gripped by fear and confusion, she began screaming, "Erik! Erik, help me!"

Her door was unceremoniously thrown open, and there was a ray of light displayed so that she could see the tall bony silhouette of her husband. "Christine, what is wrong?" She heard the panic in his voice, and soon he was right beside her. She felt around frantically, grabbing his arm as if it was her lifeline.

"It's- it's dark in here, Erik! I don't like the dark!" She wailed, suddenly realizing that she was crying. Under normal circumstances she would have been embarrassed to be crying in front of someone who was practically a stranger to her, but she was too overwhelmed.

"Hush. Dry your tears now. Nothing shall harm you," Erik said slowly and calmly. "Would you like to get out of bed?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, please." _Anything to get out of here._

Erik rose from the bed and held his arms outstretched for Christine. "Come along, my dear. I shall help you."

Christine scooted his way before pulling herself into a sitting position, and grabbed his hands. "Whoa," she breathed as she stood up, "I'm... really dizzy, Erik..."

"That is a typical side effect," Erik said, turning his body so that he had an arm wrapped around her back. He's really tall... she noted as she leaned against him. "Be careful, Christine, don't walk too quickly. I would hate for you to become ill."

 _Fall ill...? Oh!_ Christine thought as a sudden wave of nausea overcame. "Erik, stop!" She ordered, though it came out in the form of a sickened moan.

Erik halted suddenly. "What is it? What is wrong?"

Christine's eyes were clenched shut, and she took in deep breaths to calm herself. _One, two, three, one, two, three..._

"Christine!"

She'd managed to calm herself, or rather her stomach, for the time being and replied, "I felt just a bit nauseous, that's all. I'm fine now." I think.

Erik was not convinced. "Perhaps I should carry you..."

Christine was about to insist that she could walk, but the prospect of being carried out was a nice one, not to mention slightly romantic... _No, I shouldn't exploit his good graces. I can wal-_

Too late. Erik didn't waste and second as he lifted Christine bridal-style without so much as a warning. "Erik!" She shrieked in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest, and her arms flew around his neck. Erik responded with a laugh, and soon Christine was giggling madly. Once again, she inhaled that strange scent as she casually leaned her head near his skeletal shoulder, and ignored her distaste for it.

Once they reached the expansive parlor- well, it wasn't as much a living room as parlor/music room. A large organ was against the left wall, and a piano was staggered closer to the chairs and sofa. Piles upon piles of papers were scattered atop it. She gazed at the piano curiously. A voice floated through her head, saying. _"You were a bit sharp at measure 39, but you managed to fix it."_ It was Erik's voice. "I...remember."

"What was that, dearest?" Erik asked with a twinge of alarm.

"I was a bit sharp on measure 39, was I?" She teased lightly, a grin forming. "I remember you said that."

He chuckled. "Yes. I did say that. This is good, Christine." Erik carried her over to a chair by a fireplace. "You complained of being cold last night."

"The air holds rather a chill here," Christine confessed, basking in the fire's heat. She looked around quizically. "Erik, do we not have windows?"

Erik took the chair across from her, sitting down with a certain elegance. "Perhaps I should have mentioned it to you last night, but our home is deep underground the Palais Garnier."

Christine did a double take. "We do?" _Was that even legal?_

"I am an eccentric person, in case you have failed to notice, dearest." There was a certain patronizing tone to Erik's voice just then, a bit of ire in relishing the fact he had the oppertunity to point something out to her, and for a brief moment, her blood boiled.

"Something wrong, dearest?"

She snapped out of her trance to see him leaned forward in his chair, ready to help her, those strange yellow eyes holding nothing but concern. _He loves you. He didn't mean anything by it._ "No, I'm... I'm fine. Thank you, Erik."

"Are you positive? Your face has grown very red. You do not have a fever, do you?"

"No. But...could I have a glass of water?" She asked hopefully, noticing how dry her throat was just then.

He was immediately on his feet. "Of course. Anything else?"

"No, thank you."

With that, he seemingly glided out of the room, nearly floating. _Almost like a ghost,_ she mused, _He even moves without a sound. How can this possibly be?_

Of course, she figured with irritability, she would know the answers to all these questions if she simply had her memory. There was the flickering of remembrance once she'd stepped into this room, but her mind, for all intents and purposes, was a blank.

 _At least I have Erik to care for me and fill in the blanks. He's a strange husband, but a loving one all the same._

Erik had returned now, handing the glass to her mutely. "Thank you, darling," she said as she accepted it, trying out a pet name to see if it would ring any bells. Erik responded with a look of bewilderment. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No... it's... those words are highly irregular. From you, that is," he sputtered, seeming, for once, at a total loss for words.

"Irregular?" Christine cried in horror, aghast with herself. _My God, what sort of cold, callous wife am I if my husband does a double take because I call him 'darling'?_

Erik took his place once more in his chair as Christine sipped her water as a silence passed over them. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Do I love you?" She implored softly.

He sighed. "I am not the person to ask. Only you know."

"But I _don't_ ," she conveyed with frustration, "I don't know anything about myself. Everything is a blank." Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes and she tried brushing them away. "I have no idea who I am," she whimpered.

"You will find out in time," Erik said, trying to comfort her, but to no avail. She began crying, albeit quietly, but crying nonetheless. A feeling of shame was slowly manifesting her.

"Don't cry. Please, don't cry," Erik pleaded quietly.

"Erik," she croacked, "will you hug me?"

"Hug you?"

"Yes. Please." She was some desperate for human contact and affection that she chose to ignore his seeming confoundment.

She lifted her hands from her eyes to see Erik warily slinking his way towards her, almost like a frightened cat. She rose from her chair, deciding to not focus on her dizziness but walked towards him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shirt. He was cold, yes, and he smelled oddly, but there was something comforting about it, despite his acting like a stone as his arms hung ineptly at his side. But, slowly, very slowly, his arms raised and pulled her closer to his chest, so close Christine could feel his sternum against her cheekbone. "You are too thin," she murmered, hiccupping, the wet fabric from her tears rubbing against the side of her face.

One of his leatherclad hands worked his way to her hair, gently stroking the curls. "Perhaps."

All too soon, he pulled away, much to her dismay, but he still held her arms so she would not collapse. "I trust you are reasonably hungry?"

Christine was about to insist that he was incorrect just as her stomach betrayed her and let out a rumble. "I will take that as a yes," Erik said, almost smugly.

"May I go with you?" She inquired, eager not to be left alone. "I would love to see the kitchen."

Christine imagined he was raising an eyebrow at her, but consented with a sharp nod. "I cannot imagine why, but I certainly enjoy your company, so you may come."

She smiled brightly. "Well, I ought to be accustomed to it," she said as they linked arms, "if I am to be cooking in it."

"You will not be cooking in that kitchen," Erik snapped. "You needn't lift a single finger while you are in this house. You are my g-" he froze. "Wife. You are my wife."

"And is it not a wife's job to care for her husband?"

"Not in this household," Erik replied gruffly. "Your job is to sing. I would not have it any other way."

"How unconventional," she remarked, frowning slightly.

Erik shoved a door open. "Conventionality has never been a strong suit of mine. Here," he pulled a chair out with one hand. "Rest."

Christine would have protested, but indeed she was tired. She folded her arms onto the table, hoping Erik would not scold her for bad manners, and then leaned her head, watcing Erik at the stove. "Will oatmeal suffice?"

"Oatmeal sounds wonderful."

It was a strange relationship they had, Christine decided, as Erik scurried around to make her food. In some aspects, it mimicked the one between a lady and a servant. He was constantly doting upon her (though, admittedly, this was probably because of her injury), waiting for her order. In another sense, it was strangely enough like he was her father. _But of course he isn't. He is your_ husband.

"Erik, where is my family?"

He turned around, mildly surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

"Aside from you, of course," she said hastily, "Do I have parents? Or siblings, even?"

Erik let out a sigh. "I am afraid not, Christine. All you have is your Erik."

"I'm happy I have you," Christine said, worried that she had perhaps hurt his feelings. "What happened to them?"

"I do not know much," Erik admitted, turning around breifly to stir the oatmeal, "but your mother died when you were very young. A premature birth, you see. You had a small sister who did not even make it through the night."

A wave of sadness overcame her. "Did she have a name?" Christine asked quietly.

"Pardon?"

"My sister. Did she have a name?"

"I believe you told me her name was Theresia."

 _Theresia_. The name stirred no memories, much to her despair. "What about my father?"

"After your mother's death, the two of you travelled quite a few places. You loved him very much. He played the violin, and you told me he was always the best player in the world," Erik said, and though the mask stopped her from seeing him properly, she imagined that he was smiling.

"Was he?"

"I do not know, Christine. I never met him. He died years before you came here."

The weight of the world seemed to be falling on top of her. It was... devastating to know that she had no memories of her family, especially since they were all gone. Tears pricked in her eyes, and she brushed them away fiercely. "So...aside from you, I am all alone?"

"Not entirely, I suppose," Erik said. "You had a guardian. Mme. Valerius, or as you called her, Mama. She is still alive, albeit very ill."

Her heart swelled. "Have I any friends in the opera house?"

"You are not particularly close to anybody, I am afraid, though you are friendly with most everyone. And," he added with a trace of malice, "the Vicomte de Chagny seems to think that he is more than just friendly with you."

 _Raoul_. The name popped into her head unbidden. "The Vicomte de Chagny?" Her voice trembled slightly.

"Yes. He is vying for your affections, dearest," Erik told her. "Ah! Your breakfast is done!" He placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of her quickly.

"A vicomte?" She repeated, very much surprised. "Whatever for? And does he not know that I am a married woman? Who does he think I am?" She said disgusted by the insinuations.

Erik took the place behind the table. "To be fair to him," he said, almost jovially, "you and I have kept our marriage a secret. For now, that is."

"A secret marriage?" Christine sounded disbelieving, "but that's a novel idea!"

"Just for a while, my dear, I assure you. We would not want to take focus away from the opera, now would we?" Erik said smoothly. The logic made no sense to Christine, but she decided to accept it. This could not have been an easy decision to make; no doubt, she and Erik had more likely than not spent quite a bit of time to come to this outcome; she trusted him. So she ate her oatmeal.

* * *

"So why does the Vicomte take such an interest in me," she asked after swallowing a spoonful of oatmeal. The wonder in her voice was one he was so acquainted with and loved, and there were so many questions.

"What is there not to be interested in?" Erik responded, not truly thinking, but he did not regret it as she beamed widely, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"Of course _you_ have to say that," Christine teased, "but even with my memories gone, I know it is strange for a Vicomte to persue a singer at an opera. Unless..." she trailed off, looking highly uncomfortable.

"He, no doubt, is not anywhere near pure-minded," Erik said, beginning to weave the web, "He thinks you'll be easily persuaded; so sweet you are, so innocent. He met you once, when you were just childeren, and feels as though he claims some sort of right to call after you."

Her face screwed up in indignation. "How awful!" She said finally, outraged. "The nerve!"

Erik took a grim satisfaction in seeing her face heat up with anger towards the Vicomte. "I'm not fond of him myself," he said dryly, "and it would be best if you avoided him once you return."

"You can be positive I will. Oh, that _swine_!"

Erik smirked from behind his mask. _The phantom of the opera is there inside her mind._

* * *

Once she had finished her breakfast, Erik suggested that she drink a few more glasses of water before they begin their lessons. "It is highly important that you are properly hydrated in this time. It is not only essential to your overall health, but for singing as well."

Her excitement heightened. Singing. It seemed to good to be true that something such as that was her career. _I hope I sing as good as Erik says I can. I'd hate to disappoint him; he looks so happy about this._

"Christine?"

"What?"

He gave her a blank stare. "Do you feel well enough to stand and walk on your own, or should I assist you?"

"Oh, no, I think I'll try by myself," she said, adding an apologetic smile at the end. Gripping the table, she managed to rise with ease and walked, albeit slightly shaky. "I did it!"

"So you did. This pleases me," Erik said, and he sounded it.

"I never asked you," she turned to face him now, very much aware of the height difference now, "how long was I asleep? Well, passed out or-"

"About thirteen hours, give or take. The food did you good."

Thirteen hours of unconciousness? "I must have hit my head really hard..." she averted her eyes looking at the floor.

"Some of these can last for days," Erik said softly.

"I was lucky, then."

"Yes. You were. Very lucky indeed."

"Thank you, Erik," she told him quietly, smiling.

He seemed bewildered once more. "What ever for?"

"You helped me get better, didn't you?" The answer seemed simple. "You stayed with me."

"I- you are welcome, my dear," Erik said in a strained voice. "We ought to commence with the lessons, shouldn't we?"

"I think so." Feeling impulsive, Christine walked over by him and pointedly looked at one of his gloved hands. "May I?" She asked shyly, remembering how he had jerked at her touch the night before. Stunned, he nodded, and she grabbed his hand, smiling as she did so. His hand was very bony but it was not an unpleasant sensation. "Shall we?"

"I...I believe we shall," Erik sounded as if the words were hard to form. Poor Erik, Christine thought mournfully, _Poor unhappy Erik!_ _I must have been so horrible to him if he is so unused to me wanting to even touch him..._ she squeezed his hand.

Without difficulty, they made it to the room with splendourous grand piano. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It is, isn't it?" Erik said, "Of course, it holds no candle to you, dear."

Her cheeks flushed. "If you spend the whole time complimenting me, we shall never sing."

Erik let out a contented sigh, walking over to his bench. "I fear you are right. Erik does love his wife so, he could spend days talking about her. We will begin warming up. On an 'ah', if you would, Christine?"

And so she opened her mouth, singing as if it were second nature. It was as if she was hardwired to do this, each apect of the lessons permanently drilled into her head.

Erik was evidently surprised. "You sound perfect, my dear."

"I do?"

"You always do. This pleases me. You seem to remember."

"It seems I do. I didn't realize that I did," she admitted, "I couldn't remember anything yesterday."

"That isn't quite true," Erik said, though it did not sound as if he suspected anything foul from her actions. "You did remember bits about music. We were only talking of Mozart yesterday, were we not?"

"We did..."

His eyes glinted. "The knowledge remains, but the memories are gone."

"I'm sorry, Erik," Christine professed honestly, a horrible guilt growing. "I am so very sorry."

"What ever for?"

"I...I am your wife. I did not even recognize you when I woke last night! I... You are sad! I made you sad! I forgot everything about myself, about us!" She was in a state of hysteria, trying as hard as she possibly could not to openly sob, blinking back tears.

"Do not feel sorry!" Erik's voice was thunderous and angry. He rose now. "It was not your fault! None of it is! You should _not_ be apologizing!" He roared.

Even though his message was in the right place, his tone caused her to promptly burst into tears. She buried her face into her hands quickly.

"Oh, do not cry. Please do not cry!" Erik cried despairingly, "Erik did not mean to upset you, he is sorry! Christine, please!" She peeked from behind her hands to see was on his knees, clutching her skirt, looking up at her. "Do not cry, do not cry, Erik is sorry!" He kept repeating desperately.

She sniffled pathetically. "I forgive you."

"You should not have to," he said ruefully as he rose up, "Erik is disgraceful."

"Don't say that. I...you weren't even mad at me, I'm just sensitive," she insisted, drying her tears. "See? I'm fine!"

Erik shook his head. "Erik is terrible. He does not deserve to be in the presence as someone as beautiful and perfect as Christine-"

"Don't say that!" She was more forceful this time. "Please stop feeling sorry for yourself. I am fine. I am not even upset anymore, Erik. So stop it."

Erik was baffled. "You are certain you are not angry with Erik?"

"I am positive. You are my husband, after all, and you are really my only friend now. I doubt I could ever be angry for very long, if I am ever mad to begin with. Which I wasn't," she added. She then smiled. "You...you just might not want to yell. It is not very becoming of you."

Erik chucked. "I shall try not to, my angel. Anything for you."

"Should we try singing again?" Christine suggested.

"I do not know you will sound if you have been crying...perhaps a small break..."

"Alright," Christine said, accepting his answer with grace. "May I listen to you play, then?"

"Of course, my angel," Erik responded, walking over to his bench once more, "anything specific?"

She shook her head, sitting down on the divan. "I'm sure anything you choose will be marvelous."

Erik said nothing, but began to play a song that sounded vaguely familiar. "Is this Schubert?"

"It is indeed."

"I'm surprised I remembered."

"This is, if I recall correctly, one of your favorite pieces."

"I think you recall correctly," Christine had a trace of a laugh in her voice. She grinned. "Thank you, Erik."

"You do not have to thank me," Erik said with a curious tone, "Erik would do anything for his Christine." He continued to play, and Christine allowed herself to close her eyes and drift away.

* * *

 **A/N: Once again, I hope you enjoyed! I promise that the upcoming chapters will actually be plot-heavy, and I'm really looking forward to posting that. I'd love to hear your thoughts (especially on the characters), and CC is always appreciated. Have a great day!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Ill?"

"She hasn't been in for days," M. Richard sorted through his paperwork, absentmindedly conversing with the Vicomte.

"How do you know she hasn't been kidnapped?" Raoul demanded. He hadn't seen Christine for a little over a week, and according to several ballet girls, she had been absent from the opera house. "Are you certain she is ailing, monsieur?"

Richard sighed exasperatedly. "Soon after she seemingly disappeared, we recieved a letter from Madamoiselle Daaé explaining that she had been struck by a terrible fever. I am certain she is well."

"Why did she have to send the letter?" Raoul challenged. "She lives with Madame Valerius, certainly somebody at her house would have been able to send word that Christine was not well."

Richard was growing irritated. With groan, he replied, "If you are so worried about her welfare, why don't you go check on her? Now, _if you would please excuse me_ , I have quite a bit of work I must attend to."

Taking the hint, Raoul left the manager's office hurriedly. _Oh Christine,_ he lamented inwardly, _I am hoping, I am praying that you are well._

He could almost imagine her inevitable reply, sunny and optimistic. _Raoul, you should not worry so! I have an Angel protecting me!_

He missed her dreadfully. Seeing her eyes light up as she smiled, the faint scent of roses, a clear, sweet sound of her voice- even when she was not singing, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

The vicomte could not help but worry. He'd been always been wary of Christine's so-called Angel, but the night in Perros had made his suspicions more prevalent. He shuddered as he remembered Death's head so close to his own- and those ghastly yellow eyes!

Something- _somebody_ \- was using her.

Raoul came down the steps and climbed into his carriage, requesting the driver to take him to back home before settling in. The mid-autumn had grown chilly of late, and with the darkening, ominous clouds lurking overhead, Raoul was thankful he did not have to take to the Parisian streets on foot.

The young man gazed out the window, not really looking at anything but more focused on his tumultuous thoughts. A faint glimpse of golden hair made him do a double take, leaving him hopeful for a moment before the crushing disappointment. _But did you truly think it was Christine?_ Raoul asked himself glumly, now looking at the floor of the carriage. He didn't look up the rest of his ride for fear of being disappointed yet again.

* * *

Everything was perfect.

Erik relished at the sight of Christine each morning as she rose from bed, looking lovely as always. Granted, being underground for so long, she was growing pale, but that was hardly a matter of health. The weather had been cold lately anyway; he would not wish his poor Christine to have to venture about in the cool air. She could harm her glorious vocal cords if she were not careful!

"Erik?"

Her sweet, sweet voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "I am sorry, my dear," he apologized, feeling guilty, "I was distracted by my own thoughts. Please, forgive me, and repeat what you said just now."

A bemused smile came across her lips before she said, "I was merely asking when I would return to the opera house. To sing."

Ah, yes. _That._ The truth was that Erik was growing so fond of keeping his lovely little wife with him each and every day, savoring each moment they spent with one another. It would pain him so to allow her to leave him, if only for a few hours.

"We shall see, Christine."

She sighed dramatically, her shoulders rising high before falling. She crossed her arms, evidently displeased by his answer. "Could we take a walk, at least?"

"The weather is miserable. You shall catch a chill."

"It would only be a short walk," Christine protested, "and I'll be sure to wear a scarf to cover my throat." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I know you are worried about my voice."

"I am more worried about you."

"I know you are, Erik. You are such a good man. Now may we?" Christine was growing impatient.

Erik could not take her pleading any longer- not out of annoyance, mind you, but sheer guilt for not acquiescing to each of her requests- and finally said with a heavy sigh, "I suppose one _short_ walk this evening would not harm anyone."

Christine seemed surprised, yet joyful as she all but flew from her chair to his to wrap him into a hug. "Thank you, Erik! Thank you so much!"

Hugging...was strange. Never in his life had Erik experienced the sensation of a simple embrace, not even from his own mother. The warmth radiating from Christine's body was unfamiliar, but now uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. Hesitantly, Erik let his arms wrap around her waist, and inhaled contently. He could have began sobbing pitifully in that moment due to pure, unadulterated happiness.

All too soon, Christine released him and he reluctantly allowed his arms to fall back to his armrests. "Thank you," she repeated shyly, turning to return back to her chair.

 _Thank_ you, _Christine_.

* * *

Christine still remained unsure of what exactly Erik did for a living, but whatever it was, it certainly paid well, as evidence for her expensive dresses. Christine supposed she should feel the slightest bit guilty for letting him buy her all these extravagant clothes. She often felt like a small child, playing dress-up, but it gave her a thrill to wear such high quality clothes.

For the evening, she selected a deep royal blue gown. She was about to leave her room, when she realized she had forgotten the scarf she had promised to wear. "Silly me," she said to herself. There was drawer dedicated to scarves, all soft and warm. She was about to grab one that was nearly the same shade as her dress when her eye spied a red one.

 _"Papa, my scarf, my scarf!" She sobbed loudly in Swedish._

 _"Dry your tears my little Lotte, do not cry so!" Papa urged her. He ran a hand through his graying hair, his blue eyes widened as he desperately tried to soothe his young daughter._

 _"It-it-"_

 _"Look! That boy has it!"_

 _She sniffled. "What boy?"_

 _"Turn around."_

Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. Her Papa! She had heard his voice, had seen his face! She clutched the red scarf tightly, wrapping it around her neck before skipping out to meet Erik, who was currently lurking over his organ, scribbling down notes. "Erik?"

He spun around to face her. "Ah, yes. I did promise you a walk, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. And I am growing rather impatient," she teased.

"Then we certainly should begin our walk, shouldn't we?" He held out his arms and she took it without a moments hesitation. His arm was thin and skeletal, but she ignored it as he began to lead her through a pathway. Then, "What is this?" One of his lean, gloved fingers gestured toward the scarf.

"I found it with the other scarves. I promised you I would wear one."

His yellow eyes narrowed. "But why this one in particular? It hardly matches your dress."

She held onto it protectively. "It reminded me of my father. I remembered him, Erik. It was so strange...I looked at it and his face suddenly popped into my mind."

He relaxed. "Your father. Ah, yes. Did it bring up any other memories?"

"Should it?"

"Of course not, darling. I was only curious."

It was dark outside, save for the moon, the stars, and the street lamps. "It's beautiful," she breathed. It occured to her that this was the first time she had seen the outside. Well, the first time she remembered.

"So it is."

The pair walked silently, taking contentment in the absence of words and admiring the empty streets, gazing to the moon. The night's air was cool, but Christine could hardly care. She felt free.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I hope you realize I will be teasing you more often now to go outside, now that I see how marvellous it is. I fear I shall sound like a child."

"It is only so beautiful because there is no people." That was not entirely true; while the streets they had chosen were mostly devoid of others, they had passed a few people. But those people had kept to themseleves, and had barely noticed the tall masked man and blonde companion.

"Then we can come out at night."

He let out a long, weary sigh. "I will think about it."

She let a small squeak of delight, causing him to chuckle lowly. She leaned her head against his bony, protruding shoulder. It was quite uncomfortable, so she removed it almost as quickly as she had placed it there. "Erik?"

"Yes?" There was a sigh in his voice.

"Why haven't I seen you eat?"

Silence. "I have a highly unusual eating schedule."

"And a seemingly non-existant sleep schedule."

"Correct."

"That cannot be healthy, Erik," she chastised, voice full of disapproval.

"Perhaps. But I am comfortable that way."

She frowned, but said nothing more of it the rest of the walk. Erik lead her to a park eventually, pointing out constellation's in the night's sky. A streak of light zoomed through the sky. "A shooting star," Erik's voice was hushed. "Make a wish, my darling."

She smiled, closing her eyes. _I want everything to turn out for the best. For Erik. And for me._

* * *

"You know," he began conversationally as they arrived back to their home, "It may be time for you to resume your career."

She was unwrapping her scarf from her neck as her eyes widened. "Are you positive I am ready?"

"I have no complaints about your voice. You still sound as lovely as before, if not more so. You are fully capable."

A look of apprehension came over her feaures. "But...I don't know my way around," Christine said nervously. "I don't know anybody."

Ah. That was a problem. "I have tunnels that I could lead you through," Erik began, "and I could give you a tour from above."

"But what of the people?"

"We could do it during the day, or I could describe them in depth to you. Whichever you would prefer."

Christine bit her lip, deep in thought. "I suppose you could describe them for me," she said, "I am afraid I would give us away if I were too excited."

"Excellent. How does tomorrow night sound to you?"

"Wonderful. Thank you very much, Erik."

"It is nothing, Christine." This girl was overly polite in his opinion, always thanking her Erik. It is her who should have been thanking her for giving him this life.

She looked as though she was about retort with some sort of protest, but she closed her mouth, and sat silently on the couch.

* * *

"I shall come here at the end of the day to bring you home," Erik said softly as he deposited her in the dressing room. He took her hand and pressed it against his mask where she imagined his lips were.

"Goodbye, Erik," she whispered as he stepped back into the mirror (a strangely convenient device, almost ingenious). He shut it, and it resounded with only a small click.

She gazed fondly as she saw Erik's lean frame, and then her eyes widened in amazement as the image her reflection began pooling within.

She knew she had fair curls, but she saw now that her eyes were a startling blue framed by thick lashes, albeit very light. A few golden freckles were scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her skin was ghastly pale, but she assumed it was because she had spent the majority of her weeks underground. She pinched her cheeks to add a rosy glow. Her body was thin and willowy.

 _How strange. This is the first time I have actually seen myself. At least, the first time I remember. I have no mirrors in Erik's ho- our home. Maybe I should ask Erik if we could buy one._

Christine then proceeded to brush out her hair before setting out into the hallways. Without mirrors, brushing was problematic, as she appeared to have missed quite a few spots. _How humiliating! Poor Erik had to see me in such a disarray!_ She then carefully pinned it up, not wanting to look uncivilized.

Once she had completed the simple task, she realized that now she had to leave the dressing room. She had to brave the masses. Christine only hoped she would remember the hallways Erik had showed her now that they crowded with people.

A nervous flutter ran through Christine's stomach. Like butterflies, but more sinister. Spiders, perhaps. She shuddered.

She tried to keep herself composed as she navigated herself through the hallway of the opera house. Several people took time to greet her enthusiastically with "You're back!" or "Good day, Christine!" She said hello to each one of them politely, but in truth she was overwhelmed.

"Christine!" A voice called out, clearly excited.

Confusedly, she turned around, only to see a blond man with a wide smile and devastatingly blue eyes rushing towards her, clearly entranced. Many passersby made noises of distaste as he brushed past them hot pursuit for her. "Christine! Oh, how I have missed you!" He was almost there...

 _Raoul._

Her blood seemed to boil instantly. "Hello, Monsieur le Vicomte," she said cooly, trying not to be hostile before turning to resume her way.

A hand touched her shoulder, and her nostrils flared. Her own hand grabbed his, and ignoring the electrifying sensation, she spun around again to throw his hand down. "Excuse you!" She exclaimed, aghast.

The vicomte was disbelieving. "Christine, are you quite alright?" Christine had to hand it to him; he sounded genuinely concerned.

"Perfect." She kept her answers curt.

"You don't seem it." His bright blue eyes widened suddenly in a form of horror. "Not like that! You- you look beautiful, as you always do!"

She rolled her eyes, hoping that the rudeness of it would drive him away. "Do you not have more important things to attend to?" He was quite insistant, wasn't he? Erik had not been lying in the slightest when he had described the vicomte's attributes.

"No," he declared loudly, "I do not."

"Is it too much to ask you to simply leave me be?" Truthfully, she was worried they were creating a scene. At least four people had passed the bickering duo, and their pace had slowed so they could listen in.

He looked somewhat defeated. "If that is what you want, I will leave you in peace. But may I inquire one thing?"

"What?" This man was growing to be quite irritating.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"What haven't you done wrong?" _Please, leave me alone!_ She wanted nothing more now than to clutch her skirts and run back to her home. It was becoming too much for her to handle.

"What do you mean by that, Christine?" He implored confusedly. "I honestly have no idea what I have done that has offended you so!"

"Really? You do not think perhaps despite my numerous times of ordering you to leave me be and you refusing to listen to me?" She asked unhappily.

He gaped at her. "But we're friends, Christine! If...if you do not want a romantic relationship with me, I will understand, but you were one of my dearest friends..."

"I don't know you," she snapped sharply, "and you don't know me. So, Monsieur le Vicomte, if you will please excuse me-"

"Don't know me?" He was clearly hurt. In fact, he almost appeared physically pained by her accusation. "How...Christine, I-"

"Let me through!" She wanted to cry. Why did he keep insisting on harrassing her?

"What makes you think we do not know each other?" He demanded, but not unkindly. Almost...as if he wished to understand.

Still she stared him down. "What do you know about me? We met each other as _children_ , Vicomte-"

"Raoul. Please. Call me Raoul."

"-but now, we are adults. You cannot honestly think we are the same people we were then!"

A defeated look fell upon him. "You are right," he stated miserably, "of course you are. We aren't the same people, are we? I...I suppose...I suppose that I thought what we had was..." he trailed off, unable to form his thoughts into a tangible sentence.

"You thought wrong." Her words held no malice, no cruelty. The man looked as if he were broken. "Good day, Raoul." His name slipped past her lips without a second thought, and both were surprised.

"Goodbye, Christine," he said sadly, finally turning away, posture slumped as he walked down the hallway.

Christine felt a twinge of sympathy, for she had clearly hurt his feelings. Had she been too harsh? But then, she remembered Erik's words of how his thoughts regarding her were of the foulest kind, and suddenly, she did not feel so sorry for the young man.

"How was your day?" Erik asked as he lead her through the labyrinthine tunnels. It was so dark, she could barely see, and she had to clutch Erik's arm fiercely so that she could navigate herself.

"Alright," she replied after a moment's pondering. She was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of rehearsal, but everything had seemingly managed to go without a hitch. "I'm glad you made me practice everything before I had to rehearse. I would have been lost."

"You should learn to trust your Erik, my dear, he knows a great deal."

"I do trust you."

"Good." Between the darkness and Erik's mask, she could not see his smile, but she heard in his voice. "I took the liberty of already preparing dinner. I trust you are hungry?"

"I am. I feel so exhausted! I just want to eat and then sleep!"

"You do not feel well enough to have a lesson tonight?" Erik seemed hurt.

Guiltily, Christine said, "Perhaps a very very short one?"

"A very very short one shall have to suffice for tonight, then," he responded wearily.

"Perhaps my lessons could take place in the morning? Would that be easier?"

"I shall think about it," was all he said. However, knowing Erik, he would probably comply. He often pretended he was in control of the situation, some sort of masculine pride Christine presumed, but Christine knew he listened to every word she said and he almost always followed through. It was like he was a servant instead of a husband, in many senses.

Thankfully (and she was truly grateful to him for this), he had not demanded that she perform her wifely duties. With all these confusing, tumultuous developements in her life, that was one thing she had been avoiding, and Erik had never even as dared to have mention it. It was quite decent of him, she thought.

Christine was delighted to sit down and begin to devour her meal; a simple bisque and some bread. Erik's dinners were hardly complex, but Christine figured that was what she enjoyed about them; it gave her the reassurance that this was, in fact, her home, strange as it was.

"I never asked you," she remarked conversationally as Erik took the seat across from her, "how long have we lived here? Underneath the opera house."

"You have lived here since we were wed."

"It's highly unusual..." she said, trailing off.

"That it is."

"Why do we not have another house?" _A normal house. One above ground. One that is not so dreadfully dark and infested with all sorts of undesirable creatures._

"I am still searching," Erik told her, his eyes almost sparkling, "I do wish to find somewhere a little more conventional."

Christine felt her lips tug into a smile. "Good. Not that I don't like it here," she said hurriedly, which was partially a lie, "but I do miss the sunshine."

"It has been a while since you have felt its warmth," Erik stated.

"I don't remember it, but I know that I like it."

"I shall do my very best to find a home that is suitable for us, but it shall take some time."

"I understand," she said before eating another spoonful of bisque. "It must be difficult."

"It is nothing to worry your pretty little head over, my dear," Erik said flippantly, causing a surge of indignance to swell within Christine.

 _Sometimes he treats me as though I am a stupid creature incapable of intelligant thought!_ She seethed inwardly, looking down at the white, round bowl which contained the bisque in a defiant attempt to not look at her husband. _Perhaps I do not know much about buying a home, but that is no excuse!_

"Christine?"

"What?" She all but snapped as she looked up.

"I was asking you if the vicomte gave you any trouble today," Erik seemed taken aback, as his eyes were widened slightly. _Good,_ she thought somewhat smugly, still rather put out. "Are you quite alright?"

"It is nothing," she said, waving away his concerns, "and as a matter of fact, he did. But I think I handled him rather nicely. I doubt he shall be giving me much trouble in the future."

"Is that so?" Erik's voice held admiration, "That is a quite feat, my dear. Scarcely anything manages to drive the vicomte away."

"I certainly hope I have driven him away. He is as annoying as you said!" She added meekly.

Erik began to laugh loudly, and Christine could not resist in smiling. It was such a lovely sound, and to know she had caused him to do so warmed her heart. Maybe she was not as angry with him as she had previously thought.

* * *

It was nearly midnight, and Raoul could not sleep. He did not fancy himself a detective by any means, but he knew one thing for certain; there was more to Christine's strange disappearance than what met the eye.

Firstly, she was pale- unhealthily so. Christine had always been an fair skinned girl, but he recalled that her skin held a youthful golden glow from the sunshine. She loved going outside. At least, she used to, back when they were children.

She had managed to point out something very alarming to him; he did not know her. Not truly. Any memory he'd had of her was back from their childhood...of course they had grown up in that time!

But the most alarming thing was that she treated him as if he were a total stranger. While they were in some aspects, she had been nothing but friendly that night in Perros-Guirrec. What had changed? And why was she so hostile toward him, and yet perfectly at ease amongst everyone else?

His mind was reeling. He could not sleep.

 _Oh, Christine, what happened to you?_

He hoped that...thing that had attacked him that dreadful night was not the Angel of Music that had been preying upon her. What if it- whatever it was- had coerced her into pretending she did not know him? Raoul clenched his fists. If that awful thing had dared place one of those skeletal hands on her, he would kill it.

He let out a loud sigh. Sleep would not come easily.

* * *

 **A/N: A HUGE thank you to all of you who reviewed last chapter, and also to those who havs favorited and followed! So, Raoul has entered the picture! Do you like him, or hate him? Please let me know, and thank you again for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

_She was singing, but she could not tell what it was. A large, dark shadow was hunched over a piano in front of her, and, eager to please, she sang even louder, pouring more and more emotion into the song. The shadow-figure did not move. Still she sang, though more frustrated than before._

 _It was as if the shadow-figure had not heard her at all! All the more agitated, Christine moved towards him and place a hand on his shoulder. Surely, he would feel that!_

 _The shadow-figure let out an anguished howl, and she felt herself tumble to the ground as he turned around angrily._ "Damn you! Damn you!" _It boomed, sounding very much like a man._ "You impertinent girl! You wretched, sneaking, awful creature!" _It hurtled insults at her, left and right. She let out strangled, choked apologies, but it laughed cruelly at her._

 _When it turned around, a scream rose from within her. It was dead! The shadow figure was indeed a man, but a dead, decaying one. Yet it seemed so alive as it stalked toward her, it's eyes red with fury._ "Know this, Christine!" _It snarled at her as she let out a whimper. She could no longer tell what he was saying, his words were unintelligible._

 _Suddenly, it moved: Death's head was mere inches away from her very own face. It let out a cruel laugh, and she screamed once again as it wrenched its hands around her wrist. It was raising her hands up, and she tried fighting away-_

"Christine!"

She launched upwards, and dimly noted she was covered in a layer of sweat. It was dark, so dark that she could not see a thing. She gasped for air ravenously, as if she had been trapped underwater. "Erik?" She rasped, hoping that voice she had heard was not one from her imagination.

"My dear, are you alright? Did you have nightmare? I heard you scream, and I began to fear the worst-"

"Oh, Erik, it was awful!" Images of that ghastly sight flooded her mind. "I...I was..."

"Shh, try not to think of it," Erik's voice soothed her, and she felt one of his hands rubbing her back. "You are safe and sound. I shall not let anything harm you."

"It was so frightening," she whispered, "Why would my mind create something so awful?"

"The human mind is a strange thing. Now, try and rest. You have a full day tomorrow."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I cannot see you," she confessed, "it is too dark."

"It is," he agreed.

"I'm just so frightened...Erik, I can't even begin to describe how scared I was!"

"Then do not. Dwelling upon it will not make it any better."

"Will you stay with me?" She pleaded. "Please?"

He seemed to hesitate before saying, "If that is what you wish, then I shall."

"Thank you." Her voice was small; she barely recognized it. She leaned back, resting her head upon her pillow. "Erik, where are you?"

"Right beside you."

"Will you hold me?" Perhaps it was childish, but there was a little voice in her head telling her that he could protect her from the...the thing, if it was indeed real.

"Certainly," Erik replied, but he didn't sound so certain. She rolled over on her side, facing him, and a long arm reached over her waist, hanging awkwardly.

Surprisingly, it not feel uncomfortable in any way. He was trying, and she knew it. Her eyes drifted shut, and she began inhaling deeply.

Minutes passed, or it could have been hours, and Christine was still awake, but perfectly content. Sluggishly, her hand reached up to touch Erik's masked face, as if to make sure he was still there. He jerked away. "What are you doing?"

"I was jus' going to touch 'our face," she answered groggily. "Sorry."

"I am not wearing my mask." He sounded nervous by this. _Well, of course he would_ , Christine thought. It had occurred to her that Erik had lied when he said he wore the mask for show and was actually hiding a disfigurement underneath. She had to imagine it shamed him very much to be seen in such away, and so she never dwelled upon the subject in fear of making his feel overly cautious and uncomfortable.

"Really?"

"I do not often wear my mask when I am composing...when I heard you scream...I was not thinking-"

"You don' have to show me. I'm too sleepy. The light would hurt my eyes."

His muscles relaxed. "But-"

"But what?" He sounded anxious once more.

"Can I feel your face?"

There was a long pause before he said, almost strained, "One cheek." He grabbed one of her hands gently, and she let out a squeak as she was jolted awake. "What is wrong?" Erik asked urgently.

"Your hand is so cold! It's freezing!"

"Oh," he said glumly, "Forgive me. I forgot to put my gloves back on."

"No, no, do not feel sorry. It isn't your fault." Her words were more coherent now. "Why are they like that."

"I have bad circulation, I am afraid."

"Then why on Earth are we living deep under the ground?"

"It is hard to explain, dearest. I doubt it would make any sense to you."

Normally, Christine would have been indignant by such a remark, but she sensed there was no claim to superiority in the statement...only a sadness. And even if he had been making a jab at her, she was simply too tired to care. "Can we try that again?" She asked meekly.

"I suppose," Erik said, sounding wearly. He tenderly grasped her hand once more, and lifted it up to his cheek.

His skin felt...strangely. But it wasn't bad. It was actually quite... "Soft."

"What was that?"

"Sorry. I was thinking out loud."

"Did you say soft?"

"Yes. Your skin...it's kind of soft."

"I've never been told that before. I don't really know what to say."

"Haven't I touched your face before? Or at least seen it? I mean, before...?"

"Not...not often."

"Poor Erik," she murmered before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Once Erik was positive Christine was asleep, he roused himself from her bed, his hesrt still beating quickly from when he had allowed her to touch his face.

He broke into a bemused grin. Christine Daaé, perhaps the most beautiful creature in this terrible world, had called his atrocity of a face _soft_. The irony of it all was amusing, yes, but it made Erik rather giddy when he thought back upon it. He had been complimented on his architectute, his ventriloquism and even his music, but never his physical features.

Erik walked back over to piano, hastily putting his mask back on. He had managed to lose track of time with Christine, and it was nearly four o'clock in the morning. He could not afford to have any accidents.

So far, the vicomte had stayed away from his wife for a week. Of course, Erik doubted that his persistence would lessen and soon enough he would be hounding Christine once more. Erik clenched his hand into a fist and, in doing that, reminded him to slip on his gloves.

He knew Christine despised living beneath the Earth, and in truth he realized it was time to move on from the opera house, as much as it saddened him. However, there was no future here. His life was going to be dedicated to Christine. Oh, the Opera Ghost might adjust a few issues that displeased him greatly, and he would intervene whenever Christine was concerned, but was going to firmly remain in the sidelines.

* * *

"There is a strong probability that I will late today."

"Late?" Christine asked, clutching Erik's arm as he lead her through the dank, dark tunnels. "Are you looking for a new home?" She tried not to sound too hopeful. In truth, she was growing tired of having to go through this routine daily, and was disturbed by sounds of the rats that lived within these cellars.

"As a matter of fact, I will. So do not fret. I will be ten minutes behind schedule, at most."

"Oh. Alright, then."

They had finally reached the mirror. "Goodbye, my wife."

"Goodbye," Christine replied, feeling almost upset that she had to leave him, but nonetheless, she walked through the mirror and into her dressing room.

After brushing her hair (she still had not made any inquiries to Erik about possibly purchasing a mirror), she all but skipped out of her dressing room, throwing open the door only to smack Raoul de Chagny's back. "Oof!"

"I'm sorry- oh. It's you. Why were you outside my dressing room?" She questioned shrilly, unquestionably appalled.

The vicomte began apologizing profusely, "I was just waiting for you, I swear, I wanted to make sure you were safe-"

"Why wouldn't I be safe? I am fine, Raoul!"

"Wait, why were you in your dressing room? I've been waiting all morning for you! How did-"

"I came earlier than usual-"

"But how-"

"I do not have to explain myself to you!" She sputtered. "Now, would you please leave me be?"

"No!" He answered loudly, a glint of defiance in his eyes, "I want to know what is going on!"

"Nothing is going on!" Why couldn't he understand that? "Please, go away!" She begged.

"Christine," he said, softer now, "I promise, I have no ill intent towards you. I only want to make sure you are safe."

"I am safe, Raoul. I am fine. Why can you not understand that?"

"Because you are not acting like you!"

She gaped at him. How had she acted around him before she had fallen? Had she been friendly with him, yet spurned his advances politely? Had she secretly been irritated by him, and put a façade of happiness around him? She had not asked Erik, it had not occured to her. "Then how do I act?" She asked defiantly, wanting to keep the upperhand.

"Not...not like this."

"I'm tired of pretending." It was the only thing she could think to say.

"I know your supposed Angel of Music did not like you seeing me, but did-"

"Angel of Music?" She was incredulous. Is he mad?

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Your tutor?"

Had she ever refered to Erik as being as her Angel to him? Christine wasn't sure if comparing an human to an angel was sacrilegious in anyway (not that she had often been pondering religion of late), but she supposed it was a nice ruse. "Yes," she replied, unsure what else to say.

Raoul appeared confused as well, so Christine seized her chance to push past him and attempt to hurry to rehearsal before Raoul tried to restart the conversation. "Wait! Christine!"

She ignored him, walking as quickly as she could. Something tells me this isn't over, she thought, miserable at the thought.

* * *

"Daroga."

The Persian man jumped in his seat, his book falling from his hands. "Erik! How many times have I told you to cease-"

"I need a newspaper," Erik told him bluntly, standing with his hands at his side.

Nadir was astounded, asking, "What ever for? You've never needed a paper before." His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

"It doesn't matter what I need the paper for, I just need one," Erik snapped. "Now will you give me one or not?"

"Why couldn't you-" Nadir stopped there, realizing how stupid he would sound if he suggested Erik buy his own newspaper. What person would just allow a masked stranger to purchase their goods without telling another soul. He let out a heavy sigh as he rose. "Any specific newspaper? I subscribe to nearly every one in the city."

Erik let out a rare chuckle. "And why do you do that?"

Nadir shot him an annoyed glare. "I think you know why. At least one paper should be able to report on your shenanigans. Now, what paper do you want?"

"Surprise me."

Nadir grumbed as he walked over to the table, grabbing a newspaper at random, and thrusted it into Erik's hands. "Will that suffice?"

"Could you give me another?" The tone of his voice was a curious one.

Nadir grabbed a second. "You didn't answer my question."

"And what question was that?"

"Why do you need the newspapers?"

"It is none of your business," Erik said cooly as he snatched the second newspaper before walking towards the door.

"Erik, I will find out what you are up to!"

Erik let out a humorless laugh and was gone.

* * *

Christine was praying that she would not be subjected to a reprise of the morning's events as she walked back to her dressing room, but the universe was not smiling upon her. The vicomte was pacing in front of her door, his eyes lighting up in a peculiar way once he set eyes on her. "What do you want now?" Christine asked, trying not to groan.

"Would you like to accompany me for dinner tonight?" He seemed nervous. "I want...I want to understand where you are coming from. Hopefully, we can reconcile and-"

"No," she told him shortly.

"No?"

"No. I am otherwise occupied tonight, and I don't think I have anything to say to you, so dinner would be pointless."

"I just want to know why you are so upset with me! Almost overnight, you've changed! Please, tell me!" Raoul cried desperately, "I would do anything to repair our friendship! Christine, whatever I had done wrong, if I have made assumptions that I should not have, please tell me, and I guarantee you I will be sorry. I only have no idea as to what I have done wrong, and it...it is driving me to insanity. I barely eat, I scarcely sleep, Phillipe is worried for me. So please, I am begging you, show me some mercy, Christine, and let me try to right my wrongs."

His raw candor pulled at her heartstrings, but she remained firm. "I don't believe that it is possible, Raoul," she told him softly. "I am a woman now, not a little girl. And you are no longer a little boy. I do not think there is any way we could."

"But I would like to try," he all but whispered. "Please. I am begging you. Please give me a chance."

Christine found she could not remain stony-hearted. "Perhaps," she said reluctantly. A hopeful smile formed on his face. "But I...I do not believe my, uh, tutor would approve..."

"Your Angel? Listen, I do not believe he is what you think he is-"

"You don't know him!" She snapped defensively.

"There is something strange about this entire situation, Christine," Raoul said solemnly, "you have to see it. You-"

"One more word and there will be no perhaps for us, Raoul. I care very much about my tutor, and I do not wish to disobey his wishes, and if you cannot respect that-"

"I will!" Raoul replied automatically, eyes widened. "If...if that is your condition, then I will not press this matter any further."

"Thank you. As I was saying before, I do not wish to disobey him, but what he does not know will not hurt him." Christine hated to adopt this attitude, and she wasn't entirely sure mending a friendship was worth going behind her husband's back, but something was telling her it very well might be. Perhaps it was intuition. "I will let you know when we shall arrange a meeting."

Raoul nodded solemnly. "I understand. But...I...are you alright?"

"What do mean by that?"

"You...you are not frightened of this tutor of yours, are you?" Raoul asked, genuinely concerned.

"Of course not!" Christine was almost scandalized by the insinuation. "He's wonderful. He's so kind and caring. I don't know where I would be without him."

Raoul gulped. "Oh. That's good. I was worried that there was something sinister...I didn't want you being in danger."

"I am as far away from danger as a person can be. Do not worry yourself so about my safety."

Raoul could not think of anything to say, so he merely nodded. "I think you ought to go," she suggested. "I really must get into my dressing room."

"Oh. Yes, of course. You will let me know when we can speak, won't you?"

"I shall," she vowed.

"Good," he smiled brightly. "I am glad you are willing...I mean, I am glad I have been granted a second chance."

"I am unsure of how I feel, concerning this," she admitted, "I almost feel as if I have made a horrible mistake. But there's a voice in my head telling me I should listen to you. Please don't let that voice be wrong."

"I won't. I swear I won't. I don't think you know just how much you mean to me."

"Don't say that," Christine said automatically, feeling rather sick, "Please don't."

Raoul was startled, but nodded once again. "Whatever you say."

"Thank you."

"I will be seeing you soon, I hope."

"I work here, I don't doubt you'll see me. But I will let you know at the earliest possible opportunity."

Raoul smiled again. "Goodbye, Christine," he said, before turning around and walking away.

"Goodbye...Raoul." She opened her door hurriedly, hoping Erik had not been waiting for her. "Erik?" She asked in a hushed tone as she entered the room. No answer. Christine let out a soft sigh of relief.

To occupy her time, she looked into the mirror and idly braided her hair. Had she made the right choice today with Raoul? She was not certain. In a way, it almost felt like a betrayal to Erik.

She frowned. She hoped that Erik could be understand, once she confided in him, for that is what she planned. Erik was a dear man, but it would be nice to have other company besides him. She felt almost lonely, having only one person to talk to all the time about the important things. And Raoul...Raoul had said he would not attempt to pursuse anything of a romantic nature with her. She only hoped he was not lying.

It was only minutes before the mirror was opened, and she let out a yelp. "My apologies for frightening you, my dear."

"Oh, don't worry. I was not paying attention." She laughed nervously as set eyes on Erik. He held out a gloved hand, and she grasped it as she was lead into the tunnel. "How did the house hunt go today?"

"I did not visit any locations, but I picked up two newspapers. I thought we could go over the real estate sections during dinner tonight."

"That sounds lovely," Christine said, smiling genuinely. "I'm glad I can be included."

"You are my wife," Erik responded, "I value your opinion greatly."

Her cheeks grew warm. "Thank you," she mumbled. "That's...nice to hear."

"I should tell you more often."

He is such a kind man, Christine thought admiringly as she inspected her husband as best she could given the lighting. He really is a good husband to me. I am a lucky woman, even if I do live in cave.

She was then wracked by guilt. Raoul! How could she do something so vile? Arranging meetings with men she didn't even know and trying to decieve her husband? It was beyond words.

"Christine?"

"What?"

"I asked you if the vicomte was bothering you today."

"No," she answered, a bit too quickly. "It seems he's learned to keep his distance," she lied, laughing it off, yet worried. Erik was no fool; surely he'd see that she wasn't being truthful...but he too chuckled.

"It seems that you are not as demure as you once were."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, but he laughed again.

"I am not complaining, my dearest. It is only something I have taken notice to."

"It must be so strange to you," she murmered, "I look the same, but I am not the same person. I act differently..."

"It is...slightly disconcerting," he amended, "but it is pleasantly so. You used to fear me..."

"Fear you?" Her eyes widened. "Not after we wed, surely?"

"No, no," Erik replied hastily, "before. But...you never liked...my mask."

"I admit, I do not see why you need it. Whatever is underneath cannot be so bad, and I doubt I would be scared of you. You are a very...sweet man, Erik."

Erik chuckled once more. "You are too kind."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

She was silent, unsure of what to say, but Erik did not seem to take notice, apparently too lost in thought.

Damn you! Erik seethed inwardly. He had told her that she had feared him, not thinking. He had to be careful about what he said, or else he would be his own downfall.

His gaze flickered to Christine. She could not see him, he knew, for she clutched tightly to his arm. It was a terrible thing, but he relished in the fact that she needed him.

"What were you thinking about?" Christine asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"For our house," she clarified.

"Our...our house?"

She laughed softly. "What do you want it to be like?"

"I want it to make you happy," he replied honestly.

Christine smiled. "Besides that."

"Two stories would be nice, I suppose. And you?"

"I would love to have two stories. And a large garden." A pause. "It isn't a requirement, but a balcony might be nice."

"I shall try and find one, my dear," Erik said.

They finally had reached their home, and Christine fluttered to the kitchen, hardly taking a second glance at her meal as she immediately began scouring through the newspaper in front of her. Erik cursed himself inwardly for leaving them some place within her sights. "Darling, aren't you going to eat?" Nothing. "Your meal shall grow cold if you leave it for too long." Still nothing. Her blue eyes were darting back and forth as she scanned the paper. Loudly, he said, "Christine, aren't you going to eat?"

She appeared to be blissfully unaware of him. This bothered him. With hardly a second thought, he snatched the paper as quickly as he could, ignoring her noises of protest. "How about you eat your food before it grows cold?" Erik said cooly, ignoring her glowering.

"I was reading that," she told him hotly.

"I could see that. But your health comes before sesrching for a home. Eat." Erik grabbed the other newspaper with more force then necessary as he stalked out of the room.

* * *

Christine glared at Erik's back as he strode out of the kitchen, both newspapers in hand. How dare he! He was so impatient, she had to eat when he commanded she do so.

Christine was half tempted to throw her food to the floor and smash the plate to show her outrage, but she instead settled for glaring at the plate.

I don't feel sorry in the slightest for making plans with Raoul now! Actually, I'm quite pleased. I should be able to make my own plans without having to have any input from Erik? I am his wife, not his slave.

"Christine?"

"What?" She all but snarled as she looked up. Perhaps she was being childish about this, but she hardly cared.

"I know you are displeased with me," Erik said in a tone that was infuriatingly calm, "But I am trying to do what is best for you."

"And what is so wrong with reading?" She challenged, arching an eyebrow.

"Nothing. But you have to eat first."

"Don't treat me like a child."

"I most certainly am not. Now, eat."

Her nostrils flared. "What if I enjoy my meal too much? Will you take that away, too? After all, you must take away everything that seems to interest me for more than five seconds!"

Erik's eyes narrowed, and she knew she had struck a nerve. "You are behaving rather immaturely, Christine-"

"I could care less," she fired back, standing up. Christine grabbed her plate. "I will be dining in my room tonight, I think. Clearly I shall no longer be needed this evening." With that, she pushed past Erik to go to her bedroom as he stood mutely, an expression of disbelief hidden behind his mask.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait, I've been really busy lately and haven't really been able to get to write. Hopefully, the next wait won't be nearly so long. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Christine, please come out of your room," Erik pleaded from behind the door. Silence. "Open the door." Nothing.

Erik let out an angry groan as he leered at her bedroom door. This woman was not Christine; not right now, at least. She was far too stubborn.

Really, she was being overly-dramatic. All he had done was seized away a trivial newspaper, yet she acted as though he had murdered a kitten right in front of her. It was madness. "I hope you realize that if I become desperate enough, I can easily unlock your door."

"Good for you," came her sarcastic reply.

This woman drove him to the brink of insanity! "I certainly hope you have a magical evening sitting alone in your bedroom while I look for our house," Erik hissed, stalking away furiously.

Once he grabbed one of the papers, he ripped it open agressively, scanning meticulously through each listing. Historically, he'd always been known to have a bad temper, and usually he had to distract himself to shake off the fury.

 _One story, three bedrooms_... "Erik."

His eyes snapped upwards. Christine was standing in the living room, looking stoic. "Decided to join your beast of a husband, did you?" He drawled, more sardonically than he had intended.

Her cheeks flushed; out of anger or embaressment, he was not sure. "I was wondering if you would be as kind as to give me a match. I do not like the dark, as you recall."

He stood up, letting the paper fall to the floor as he walked over to a desk, pulling open a drawer and grabbing the box. Wordlessly, he walked back to her, thrusting the box at her. "Please bring them back once you are finished."

She didn't answer him and walked out of the room, her footsteps resonating with the extra force. With a nearly silent groan, Erik picked up his newspaper, sitting back into his chair. He was not reading the words, just staring at the word four as he listened for the sound of her footsteps.

He soon heard her come back, but ignored her. She walked closer to him. "I have your matches," she enunciated loudly.

He sat the newspaper down and mutely accepted the box. As soon as he did so, she turned on one heel, her footsteps deliberate as she trudged back to her bedroom. "You do not have to stay in there all night if you do not want to," he called, a part of him hoping he would sway her.

Her response was the slamming of her door.

* * *

She couldn't even understand why it was she was angry. She merely was. Christine sighed, and brushed a piece of hair away that had fallen in her face.

It was if...something new had came alight within her the moment she first shut thr door. Something that may have been there before she forgot everything...

 _But that is impossible! Erik said that..._

But would Erik lie, to have the wife he'd always secretly wanted? One that was doutful, obedient...

She shook her head. It was hardly likely. She must have always been soft-spoken and mild, as Raoul had also been taken aback.

She walked over to her bed, with heavy footsteps. In truth, anger was exhausting, and a feeling she was very unused to, so she threw off all her heavy, constricting items of clothing (namely, a corset, in which Christine glared at as she tossed it to the ground), and she grabbed the first nightdress she saw, threw it on, and fell upon the bed, eager for sleep and not in the mood to entertain anymore ridiculous fantasies.

* * *

She awoke at an early hour the next morning, in higher spirits than she had the previous evening, but disturbed by the darkness, as her candle had burnt out. _I might as well go speak with Erik_ , she thought with a glum note, _it's certainly better than staying here._

She dressed herself with no difficulties, and left her room, making sure her movements were rather slow. It didn't matter who was right or wrong, Christine did not like the thought of having to confront Erik about their behavior the previous night.

However, once Christine reached the parlor, she heard an awful din erupting from outside...by the waters edges, she presumed. Erik was there...she would recognize his voice anywhere, and another gentleman, both yelling furiously in a language she did not understand.

With unease, she hurried back to her room, shutting the door quickly. Her room was, however, dark, and she let out a noise of disappointment. Oh, why would she run back into here? _I am such a fool!_ She couldn't very well go back to bed; so she settled for sitting on her bed, bringing her knees up and hugging them fiercely as she clenched her eyes shut. _Nothing can hurt you, nothing can hurt you_ , she chanted inwardly, hoping that it was true.

So, naturally, when her door was thrown open, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

* * *

"Erik, I demand to know what you are hiding from me!"

"For the last time," Erik snarled, "it is none of your business what I do with my private life!"

The sound of a door slamming from within Erik's home was heard. Nadir paused. "Who is in your home?" He asked quietly.

Erik responded by swearing under his breath. Determined, Nadir pushed past Erik, ignoring his protests, and began stalking through his home. He walked down a small hallway and opened up the first door he found, and was met by a shrill shreik. He backed away startled.

It was a young woman! In Erik's home!

"Erik!" He shouted just as Erik moved to his side, muttering unintelligible things. "What is she doing here?"

"Allow me to introduce my wife," Erik said in French with little to no inflection. _A wife?_

"Erik, who is this?" The girl asked, looking distrustfully at Nadir. Something about this girl was strangely familiar...

"An old friend, dearest, you needn't worry," he said, striding into the bedroom to stand in front of the young blonde. "Now does this sate your curiosity?" He asked, switching back to Persian, clearly displeased.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you have a wife? My God, Erik, what have you done? Have you kidnapped her?"

"Nadir, really!" Erik said with mock horror, "I am insulted by these accusations! Is it so unbelievable that someone could grow to love me?"

"I don't know what you have done," Nadir sais quickly, "but something is not right! She is frightened!"

"Probably because a strange man just burst into her bedroom!"

"May I speak with her for a moment? Without your company, of course?"

Erik switched back to French, saying loudly, "Anything you wish to say to my wife may be said in front of me!"

Nadir sighed. _Very well._ "Will you step aside then, if you please, so that I may see her?"

"Certainly." Erik shifted to the side, exposing the young, blonde girl. Her eyes were widened in apprehension.

"Hello...um..." He internally began to curse his limited knowledge of the French language.

"Christine," she supplied.

"Christine. So...you are married to Erik?" The words spoken aloud seemed all the more ridiculous.

"Yes."

"And you are not afraid of him?"

"Of course not!" She sounded appalled by the insinuation. "Erik has been taking care of me! He wouldn't harm a hair on my head!"

 _She certainly speaks with conviction._ "I did not mean to insult you, madame," Nadir said hastily as she all but glared at him, "but I only wished to be sure that-"

"Isn't it about time you wandered off, Nadir?" Erik boomed from the corner.

"Perhaps it is. Christine...if you ever find yourself in trouble, do not hesitate to call around to my house-"

"I do not think that will be necessary," Erik interupted, all but pushing the Persian out of the doorway with a warning look in his eyes.

"I am sure that if I am in trouble, Erik shall help me," Christine called out cooly in response.

"Quite right, darling. Goodbye, Daroga," Erik said with a tone finality.

Nadir finally walked out of the bedroom as Erik followed close behind, making sure he found his way out. "I am still suspicious, Erik."

"You needn't be."

"I always have to when it comes to you," Nadir said as he reached the waters edge.

* * *

When the Persian gentleman finally left her door walk, Erik had prowled behind him and Christine, who wanted nothing more than to leave the darkness, followed him in turn until she reached the parlor before going to sit on the sofa, awaiting Erik's return.

"I apologize for that," Erik said dryly as he walked into the parlor, "He is rather troublesome at times."

"You said he was your friend. He didn't seem too friendly."

"No, he isn't," Erik replied, walking towards the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a step out into the garden," he answered sarcastically.

"I just thought we could talk," Christine said in a small voice, taken aback by his nastiness.

There was a sigh in his voice as he responed with, "I shall prepare your breakfast. You are more than welcome to join me."

She thought about replying back sharply, but managed to restrain herself. Arguing would get them nowhere. So with a soft sigh, she followed him into the kitchen, where he walked over to the stove. "Are eggs suitable for your breakfast?"

"Quite," Christine said as she took her place in her chair. "I...I suppose I wish to apologize for my rudeness last night."

"You are forgiven."

"Thank you. But I shall not apologize for becoming upset."

Erik turned around to face her. "And why is that?"

"Because I had every right to be mad," she told him confidently, silently revelling in the moment. "Erik, I do not know if you realize this or not, but sometimes you do not treat me like your wife, you treat me like a misbehaving child. And it has to stop."

"A child, you say?"

"Yes. A child. Admittedly, I don't... I don't know what our difference in age is, but from my assumption, you are probably older than I."

"You would be correct," Erik answered. His arms were crossed now.

"So I understand if you think I am... immature. But I dislike it so when you scold me or speak to me as if I am too young to understand. It has been bothering me for quite a while now, and I should have said something, but we cannot rewrite the past," she finished, smiling slightly.

Erik was silent for a while before saying, "I apologize for my...actions. I can assure you, that was far from my intention. I shall watch my behavior from now on."

She beamed. "Thank you, Erik. And," she said, hesitantly, thinking of her promise to Raoul, "I would like a little more independence."

"Independence?"

"I...I would like to be able to go shopping for you. All by myself. I...I do enjoy my time spent with you, but I would like a chance to try and do something for myself."

Erik seemed wary. "I do not know if I like the idea of you gallavanting around the city when you do not know it so well."

"You could show me which places you like to go to on out nightly outings, and I could go there in the daytime. Don't you see, Erik? I'm sure I will be fine."

He still seemed wary, but he nodded slowly.

She smiled widely. "Thank you, Erik! Now," she teased, "did you find anything while I sulked in my room?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I shall show then to you _after_ you eat your breakfast."

Christine grumbled inwardly. "Why not now?"

Erik appeared to be conflicted. "Because...well..."

"Because you say so?" Christine quipped, arching an eyebrow as she crossed her arms indignantly.

He sighed heavily. "They're...the newspapers are on top of the piano. Remove them very carefully, I don't want anything in a disarray."

Christine beamed, said, "Thank you, Erik," and quickly dashed out of the kitchen. In a moment's time she was back, eagerly opening one up.

"I took the liberty of circling the ones I found best suited for us," Erik told her, intently staring down at her eggs.

"Thank you, Erik. I daresay it makes things much simpler for me," she said, smiling. He was strange man, so devoted to making sure he could pamper her by preparing her meals and circling things for her even after they had quarrelled.

She immersed herself in looking at each circled listing, trying to discern the messy scrawl in red ink beside them when Erik's voice was in her ear saying, "Your breakfast is ready, my dear."

She jolted suddenly. "Goodness," she said with a laugh, "you frightened me!"

"Erik is sorry!" He said, alarmed, "He did not mean to scare his lovely wife, he only wanted-"

"Oh, no, it's fine, I'm fine, Erik," she stated quickly, although she sensed that something was most definitely _not_ fine. She had noticed, especially when he became apologetic, he began exulting praises for her, and he began criticizing himself- going so far as to refer to himself as if Erik was an entirely different person. What seemed to help him was for her to repeat constant assurances that she was not angry in the slightest.

As she glanced at her husband, who was surprisingly hunched over (his posture was usually perfect), looking at the back of her paper. "Erik," Christine began meekly, "would you mind coming over here?"

Erik stared at her blankly. "Is something troubling you?"

"I...I think you wrote your notes on the side in a different language," she said uncomfortably.

He seemed genuinely surprised. "I did? How curious! My apologies, my dear," he said as he walked to the other side of the table, kneeling down beside her chair.

"Don't you want a chair?"

"I am fine," Erik replied, peering at the paper. "It appears as though I did, right here," he said, using one long finger to point to one section, "Russian, it appears."

"I didn't know you spoke Russian," Christine said admirably.

"I can speak quite a few languages," he said distractedly, "Right here, I was commenting on how it lacked the balcony you so desire."

She blushed. "That was not a requirement. I shall survive without a balcony."

"I know you will. But you deserve one. I was only pointing it out so that I could build one if need be."

She blinked. "Build a balcony? That sounds a bit adventurous." _And dangerous._

He made a noise, waving her worries aside. "Nonsense. I have build many balconies in my time, it is not difficult."

"Where did you build these balconies, then?" She asked, curious. There was so little she truly knew about him; knowing Russian just scraped the surface, she realized, now he had built balconies.

"Here and there," Erik said shortly, indicating he no longer wished to talk about it. "Ah, right here, that's also Russian. I was commenting that it was close to the opera house, rather ideal location."

"What does _that_ say?" Christine asked, pointing to another circled entry.

Erik stiffened. "That is in French."

"Oh," she said, feeling stupid. _You are such a fool, Christine!_

"Do not feel sorry," Erik told her, voice devoid of all emotion, "Erik has always had terrible penmanship. Why, his own mother-" he froze. "Christine does not need to hear this, she does not need to hear such atrocities-"

"No, Erik," she said quickly, "You were rushed, that is all! I think your handwriting is lovely!" She lied, looking down at the childish chickenscratch.

"Erik was rushed, yes," he said slowly. He then looked directly into Christine's eyes. "Does Christine really?"

"Does Chris- do I really what?" She corrected herself hastily.

"Do you really think Erik's handwriting is lovely?"

"Of course I do!" She declared. "It's very unique, I've never seen anything like it."

He seemed to soften, and it was the strangest sight. The Erik she was accustomed to seemed to be gone, and left in his place was a...dare she say it... _fragile_ man, who seemed to only want comfort. His yellow shining eyes were staring at her with such adoration, it almost made her feel uncomfortable. However, she shoved her emotions aside, and asked him if he wanted a hug.

He was suspicious. "Are you sure?"

"Erik, why wouldn't I be sure? I am asking _you_ , not the other way around."

He still seemed hesitant, but nodded nonetheless. Christine smiled, pulling him into an embrace. He was much more relaxed; his muscles were not so tightened, and he let his chin rest on her shoulder.

 _It would be so easy right now to take off his mask, she noted, Look how relaxed he is. It would catch him off guard, and you would see his face, for the very first time..._

 **No.** This voice came somewhere else. **He does not want you to touch the mask, so do not touch it. It would be a betrayal...it would be worse than you could possibly imagine.**

She pulled away now, almost spooked. "There. Do you feel better now?"

Slowly, he nodded, still looking at her with that same admiration. "Good," she said, "I'm glad. Now," she lifted up the paper, "tell me what it says."

"I...I had wrote that the size of the back yard had a large enough space to incorperate a garden." His voice sounded...strange, but she decided to ignore it.

"That's good. How far away from the opera house is it?"

"Quite a bit, but it isn't the furthest. The furthest ones are in this newspaper," he said, rising up to grab the other one. "A lot of these were nice homes, but I did not consider them solely for the distance."

"I understand," she said whilst nodding, "I wouldn't care for a long commute anyway."

"I thought not."

"Which home do you like the most?" Christine inquired.

He shrugged. "It makes no difference to me where we live, I only want you happy, wherever it is."

Christine smiled. "I do appreciate that sentiment, but I don't want you being miserable. Just tell me which one you like."

"I do not have much of a preference, dearest."

She sighed, growing irate. "Then which one do you think is the most practical one for us?"

Erik paused, and she watched as his eyes darted all over the page. He lifted his index finger, and pointed at the listing in the far right page. "This one, I think, would be most practical, but it is your decision, my dear. I've done my part."

She squinted, looking at the small print. "Four bedrooms," she stated, seeming surprised. "Do we really need that many?"

"We can always turn them into other things to suit our purposes."

"Like a nursery," she said softly, not thinking in the slightest.

Erik's eyes widened suddenly, almost in a panic. He coughed, and then said, "We can, uh, worry about that if the time comes."

Christine blinked. "Oh, dear! I apologize, I wasn't thinking. Oh, I'm so stupid, I should not-"

"You are not stupid," Erik interjected defensively.

"I still shouldn't have said it."

"Perhaps not," Erik admitted, "but what's done is done. We shall wait for that time... if it indeed comes."

 _He keeps saying if the time comes,_ Christine noted with the slightest frown, _As if he was implying that it might not. But what is he saying?_

Did Erik not want children? No, of course he would. Men wanted sons to continue on the family name, so of course he would.

Perhaps she had...issues. After all, her mother had died in childbirth, he could easily be worried if the problem was hereditary.

Or maybe (and this was the thought Christine disliked the most) he was thinking that she might never perform her...wifely duties. The thought made her rather uncomfortable, and she was hoping it wouldn't come to that. Although he was her husband, she barely knew him! She barely knew anything about her life! Christine was not ready to undertake... _that_. The idea made her skin crawl.

"Christine?"

"Huh?"

"I asked you if any of these houses struck your fancy," Erik told her. "Are you alright, my dear? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine!" She replied swiftly, cursing herself. Why did she have to blush so easily?

"Are you certain?" Erik asked, and she was almost positive he was arching his eyebrow.

"I am, really," she said, trying to placate his suspicions. "I was lost in my own thoughts, that is all," she smiled brightly. Christine glanced down at the paper once more. "I like the house you thought was most practical," she said slowly.

"I hope you are not saying that just to please me."

"No, really, I do!" She assured him, "It's large enough certainly, close enough to the opera house, and it sounds delightful. May we go see it tonight, on a walk?"

Erik paused. "We shall see. It shall depend on the weather this evening, but yes, most certainly, I shall try and take you to see the exterior."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, thank you so much, Erik!" She gushed.

"Anything for you, my dear," Erik said warmly. "I think it is time that you warmed up. Rehearsal will start very soon."

She nodded briskly. "Yes, of course!" She exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. Her speech was hurried. "May I have a glass of water first? I'm positively parched, I forgot to drink anything during my breakfast-"

"Please do, I want you to properly hydrated," Erik was amused these antics. "Fetch yourself your water, and I shall be waiting for you at the piano."

Christine beamed at him again. "Thank you again, Erik."

"What ever for? I think it would be positively beastly if I did not allow you to replenish your liquids-"

"No, you silly man, for the house! I know it cannot be easy, considering that you have lived here for quite some time, and I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart." She stood on tip toe, kissing the right side of his mask, leaving him gobsmacked. "Now, go to the piano, I shall be there in just a minute."

"Ah, um, of course. What ever you wish," Erik stuttered, leaving the room bewildered.

 _My wish is coming true_ , she thought as she grabbed a small glass, _everything is turning out the best for both of us._


	6. Chapter 6

Christine was still giddy when she passed through the mirror into her dressing room. She was finally going to have a normal, _natural_ home with the man who loved her unconditionally, and nothing was going to stop them. No more wandering blindly through damp dark tunnels be lead through, no more having to light candles to see, and finally, at long last, _sunshine_. And freedom.

 _Raoul_. Of course. She had made a promise to him, hadn't she? With a heavy sigh, she rustled around through various drawers to find a pen and a scrap piece of paper.

 _Raoul,_

 _I write you with good news. Soon, we shall be able to arrange the meeting you have desired. I shall have quite a bit of personal business to attend to soon, and I may be gone from the opera house for a few days, but I beg of you, please, not worry about me. As I have previously stated, I am safer than you could possibly imagine._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Christine_

She smiled to herself, satisified with the little note, and waited for the ink to dry enough before neatly folding and creasing the paper into thirds. Contented, she carried herself to the door and to the hallway, hoping she would see Raoul.

It didn't take long before her eyes caught sight of a golden head, and eagerly she met his eyes. He smiled, and then said "Good morning, Christine," before noticing the letter. "For me?" She nodded.

Grinning wider, he took it from her carefully before eagerly racing down the hallway. It was endearing, and Christine felt a giggle rising from the back of her throat before she stiffened. _What are you thinking?_ Blushing inwardly out of halfhearted anger, she briskly made her way to rehearsal.

All through rehearsal, the scene with Raoul replayed in her mind over and over again. She couldn't stop herself from picturing his smile again, and the way his eyes began to shine when he had spied her. He had sworn he wouldn't persue anything more than friendship, but she wondered maybe, possibly-

"Madmoiselle Daaé!" A sharp, clipped voice interrupted her thoughts.

Christine jolted back to reality. "What?" She said, feeling rather stupid as she noted she was under the impervoius gaze of Monsieur Gabriel, and it was evident he was not pleased with every twitch of his mustache. Several members of the chorus were giggling.

"You missed your cue."

"I'm sorry," she said genuinely, red spoltches of shame appearing on her cheeks, "I truly am..."

"Apoligizing will do you no good. Just try and pay attention, will you?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course, Monsieur-"

"Right. Now, Señora Guaddarma, will you begin again at measure 35?"

Christine sighed inwardly. What on Earth was wrong with her? She shouldn't be distracted by pretty vicomtes, not when she was going to soon be moving into a new home with her husband. A smile began to form. Yes, this was good.

"Madmoiselle Daaé!"

"Yes? Oh, did I miss it again?" Christine lamented in distress.

Gabriel's eyes were narrowed. "I am afraid you did."

"May we please try again?"

Gabriel sighed wearily. "We do not have time today. You've squandered it aplenty."

The words managed to cut like a knife. "I am sorry, sir, truly I am-"

"Señora Guaddarma," Gabriel said loudly, cutting her off, "Will you be so kind as to grace us with your aria from Act II?"

"Certainly, monsieur," La Carlotta said, flashing her pearly whites. Christine glowered as the diva began to sing. It wasn't as if the woman's singing was abhorrent, it was merely...dated. Nothing about her interpretation of the roles she was cast in was original anymore.

As she followed along in her music, she overheard snippets of gossip floating through the air. "He is awfully keen on her," a nasally voice said from behind her, "but I don't think she's interested."

"Of course she is!" A second voice spoke up, incredulous. "Didn't you see how she was daydreaming? It must have been about the vicomte!"

With a start, Christine realized they were talking about her. More than ever she focussed in on her music, but listened closely. "You know that dancer, little Jammes? She told me she's passed her dressing room before and heard a man's voice!"

"A man's voice? And it isn't the vicomte?"

"No!"

"Goodness!"

Christine decided to stop listening, feeling embaressed. They didn't think she was a...did they? And it was silly they would think she was courting Raoul! She was only an opera singer, and he was a vicomte. Putting the fact she was married aside, it simply was an ill-suited match.

The day went on slowly, and Christine was relieved to be headed to her dressing room. She wanted nothing more than to go with Erik to see her new home later that evening. Perhaps she would be able to see Raoul before she left, and receive any additional information on...

Speak of the devil, there he was! There was no mistaking him as he strode her way. She smiled at him politely, and her eyes drifted down to his hands. Nothing. Confusedly, she looked back up, only to see a small smile and a nod of the head before he walked past her. For some reason, she felt almost wounded by his response. He'd always been so happy to see her before, so what had she done wrong?

 _Why are you thinking like this?_ She chastised herself. _It isn't any of your business how he decides to conduct himself when passing you in the hallway!_

Still, she was slightly morose when she turned the knob of her dressing room door with a sigh, slinking over to her chair to collapse and rest her eyes before she noticed a cream colored paper sitting there. "Raoul...?" She plucked the letter up nimbly, dying of curiousity to see what he had written.

 _Dearest Christine,_

 _Thank you very much for informing me of your plans. It is a great comfort to me so that I am not needlessly worried. I doubt Phillipe would enjoy my endless speculations. And again, I do promise to stick to my word, and am very sorry that I was a little too familiar in the hallway. Old habits are hard to break, you realize. Anyways, you have no reason to worry on that front. I shall keep myself in line._

 _-Raoul de Chagny_

Christine chuckled to herself. "What a foolish boy for thinking he is not allowed to smile at me in the hallway!" She wished she could compose another letter, but how she would be able to give it to him before Erik came to fetch her was a slim chance. She bit her lip frusteratedly. Then, an idea came to her. She grabbed yet another paper, scribbled down her note, and set off into the hallways to the box office.

"Excuse me, Madame Giry," she said to the older woman, whose eyes were tired from a long days work, "what box does the Comte de Chagny and his younger brother have reserved?"

The woman sighed. "Box Five, unfortunately. The Ghost won't like it one bit. I tried warning them-"

"Yes, thank you very much, madame," Christine said, cutting her off. "Will you please inform the vicomte next time you see him to go to the Box?" She felt rude to do so, but quite frankly the nonsense the woman sputtered about the supposed Opera Ghost was enough to drive Christine mad.

The woman appeared confused, but nodded her head. "Thank you very much, Madame Giry!" Christine beamed before hurrying off to Box Five. The door was, thankfully, unlocked, so she slipped in for a few seconds to place the letter upon the chair and scurried out, hurrying back to her dressing room to meet with Erik.

Thankfully, she had made it back with ten minutes to spare, and managed to entertain herself with all sorts of daydreams about her new home, hoping it was as nice as Erik thought it was and just right for the two of them.

"Christine?" Erik's voice floated from the wall.

"I'm ready!" She jumped to her feet, walking through the mirror, still enchanted by it bewitching features before bumping into Erik. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

He chuckled. "It is quite alright, my dear. Was your day very interesting?"

"No more so than usual," she told him, "I kept thinking about our new home."

"The good news is that I have already bought it."

"Really?" Her eyes were wide. "When shall we begin moving in?"

"Next week, I imagine."

She smiled. "I can hardly wait." Erik did not reply, so images of the sunshine and a real, proper house danced her mind. She would wake up every day to bright light flooding through her windows, nothing would be damp or dark...

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I asked if the vicomte bothered you today," Erik said, his voice clipped. She winced. She had upset him.

"Oh! I am sorry, I do get distracted easily-"

"Did he bother you today, Christine?"

She wished she did not have to lie! It was far too early for the truth, and she did not want to stir up trouble when things were going so well. "No more than usual," she responded, with a small laugh. "His persistence is maddening."

"Erik wishes that Christine did not have to deal with the boy," he said mournfully.

"It's alright," she told him, pausing for a moment to rest her hand on his bony shoulder to soothe him, "He is...his attempts are lessening..."

"It is not right," Erik lamented, "Christine is Erik's, and Erik's alone."

If he hadn't sounded so sad, Christine would have been tempted to slap his masked cheek so hard he'd be in the next week. "No, I am not his," she said, trying to remain cordial and tactful instead of revealing her unbridled anger, "and you are my husand. But I believe the only person who can claim ownership to me is myself. I'm your wife, not your slave. You didn't buy me, did you?"

Erik did not reply, and continued walking as if he'd never heard her. Christine sighed inwardly. Had he truly not, or was he ignoring her? She thought she'd been loud enough...but she suspected he was hard of hearing at times, for this sort of thing had happened before. In any case, she did not wish to repeat this sentiment again, and did not plan on doing so unless it was absolutely required.

Perhaps she was a little too...modern for her own good. She absloutely detested the things women at the opera house would do only to be appealing to the men. And some women were fearful of being too late for their husbands, or else he would be sent in a jealous rage and certain she would be having an affair instead of listening to her explainations. It made her all the more happy she had chosen someone who was usually docile and collected like Erik, or else who knows what kind of horrors she could be facing once she returned home? But still, she liked entertaining the idea she was her own person, and regardless of what some laws and society might imply, Erik was not her master in any sense of the word.

"My dear, I should warn you to be very careful."

Goosebump began to raise on Christine's arms. Had he heard her thoughts? Or did he somehow know about Raoul? "Careful about what?" She asked, her voice raising an octave as her palms began to sweat.

"We are going to be living in the city soon, my dear one," Erik said, his voice so innocent, "there are many dangers on the street, and I thought I ought to warn you in foresight. Why do you sound so nervous, my love?" Was it her imagination, or had this thin hands managed to apply just enough pressure against her own to cause discomfort? "Is there something I should be worried about, Christine?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, absolutely not! What on Earth would give you such an idea? No, you merely frightened me, Erik! You should know by now how easily I get lost in my thoughts." She waited, holding her breath as she hoped this reply would ease his suspicions.

"Of course I should," he said with a hearty chuckle, "The thoughts in your mind just seem to latch onto you and never let you go!"

Christine laughed with him, grateful he'd accepted her frightened ramblings as fact, but still very aware of how his grip on her hand hadn't lessened.

* * *

Erik was no fool. He had seen Christine talking to Madame Giry and watched as she had deposited a letter in _his_ box, and he was certain it was not for him when he'd managed to catch the words, "The Ghost won't like it one bit..." before Christine had cut her off and had hurried down to the Box. She was hiding something, he knew it, but he would most certainly find out. But it would be later. Much later. For now, he intended to be an ordinary man, spending an evening out with his wife.

It endeared him to see Christine so excited, bounching around like an eager child on Christmas. He always knew he could make her happy. She explored their new home, gasping and gaping with each door she opened, all but dancing through the halls. She gazed out a window, eyes wide. A silver glow flowed through, and it captured her silhouette on the floor perfectly. "Erik!" She whispered excitedly, "it's snowing!"

"Is it really?"

"Yes! Oh, come over here and look at it, won't you! It looks so beautiful!"

Erik strode across the room to glance oyt the window. Indeed, she was correct; fat, fluffly snowflakes were falling through the nights sky. "Is this the first snowfall of the year?" Christine inquired.

There had been a small one only a week ago, and it had melted shortly after, but Erik lied and said, "Yes," relishing as she beamed. He knew it would make her happy. Everything he did was to make her happy.

They left shortly after, setting out into Paris streets. Christine kept turning around, looking at the exterior of the house. He knew she was melancholy, and said, "It will not be long, my dear, before we live there."

"I know. Thank you so much, Erik." He felt her squeeze his hand affectionately.

He smiled beneath his mask. "You are very welcome, my Christine."

* * *

Raoul arrived to the Opera House early, hoping to be there before Christine. It was amazing how dedicated she was to her career, it was almost as if she never left the opera house..."Monsieur le Vicomte?"

"Yes?" Raoul saw the spindly bookkeeper Madame Giry, looking very troubled. "What's wrong, madame?" He asked, concerned.

"Madmoiselle Daaé wished for me to inform you to go to Box Five."

 _Box Five? What ever for?_ "Thank you, Madame Giry!"

"You are playing a dangerous game!" Madame Giry warned him, "the Ghost will not be happy with the pair of you children!"

Raoul ignored her, hurriedly scrambling to Box Five as if his very life depended on it. Was Christine waiting there for him? God, he hoped. He was always so happy to see her...he shook his head. No. He couldn't think like that. He had promised her he would not. He was to remain nothing short of a gentleman, as a vicomte should be.

Despite what he had just told himself, the young man was rather forlorn that the Swedish singer was not waiting for him, but the contrast of the white parchment against the red velvet chair drew his attention. Greedily, he dove for it, reading her words.

 _Dear Raoul,_

 _You silly man, it's perfectly alright for you to smile at me in the hallway! It's very disconcerting when you don't! I was rather taken aback, to be honest! No, please be your friendly self, but don't be overly friendly, if you understand my meaning._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Christine_

Raoul laughed loudly, feeling a wretched fool. He supposed he had been the slightest bit ridiculous. But her words...they were warmer and kinder, like the Christine he knew so well. He was filled then with hope; perhaps they would be able to remember their times together and stay great friends. He smiled down at the letter, and tucked it gingerly into his pocket before setting off.

* * *

Erik was enraged as he watched the boy pick up the parchment. So...Christine was sending _love letters_ to this impudent boy, was she? It was a stab in the back. Even after his attempts to make her hate him, even after he had manipulated the situation, even after telling her that she was his wife, the vicomte was able to charm her! It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair! Erik tried desperately not to scream with a rage or dissolve to a puddle of tear, but he felt himself blinking quickly to stop the latter from happening.

Why couldn't she love him? He was her husband, was he not? The law would not recognize, nor God, he had taken care of her as a husband should. He had just bought her a house! And yet, she still gallivanted with the vicomte, wounding him more than words could possibly describe.

And he still loved her.

With a growl, he stalked off. He wouldn't let her know, not yet, at least. He would wait for the right time to strike and end the young lovers' folly. Erik would catch them, he knew he would. He would plan it so meticulously, so carefully that they would not be able to escape his web. That boy would come to realize that he had pursued the wrong woman.

* * *

"Does Christine like your new home?"

Erik grunted noncomitally. Nadir sighed. He was clearly in one of his moods. "Just help me move the furniture."

"Something is bothering you-"

"I asked for you to come help me move furniture into the house, not act as my thearpist!" Erik snapped, his yellow eyes flashing dangerously.

The Persian man sighed as he lifted the other half of the sofa, and thry walked over towards the far wall. "It is a very nice house."

"Of course it is. Would you think I would force my wife to live in squalor?"

 _Well, making her live underground was hardly anything like living in a palace,_ Nadir thought, exasperated by his friend's antics. "If you would talk about what is bothering you-"

"You," Erik snarled, "are bothering me, and if you try bringing this up again, I promise that you will get to meet my Punjab lasso."

"I am afraid your lasso and I are well acquainted," Nadir said wearily, thinking back upon Persia, "Although I've never been particularly fond of it."

"You'll be even less so unless you keep your mouth shut. Now help me move this bed upstairs, it shall be going into my wife's room."

* * *

Two weeks had passed, and Christine doubted that she had ever been happier. Their home was perfect, and furnished with some of the most lavish furniture. Even Erik seemed to be happier; he was being so kind lately, doting on her more than usual. She awoke each morning with sunlight streaming in through her windows, able to see the dust dancing in the air. She would dress herself and go down to meet Erik, who had prepared a delicious breakfast, and she always greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. Once she was finished, she bade him goodbye and hurried to the opera house, having memorized the way.

So she followed her routine exactly when she woke up on this particular morning. "Good morning, Erik," she said with yawn as she sat down at the kitchen table. "Goodness, I'm rather tired today."

"Didn't you sleep well, darling?" Erik asked concernedly as he sat her breakfast- a steaming bowl of oatmeal- in front of her.

"Yes," she responded with a frown, "Perhaps I've been working harder than normal."

"That is the likely case."

"Either that, or I've taken up sleepwalking," she said with a grin, and Erik chuckled.

"I hadn't noticed, but I may have been too absorbed in my composing to realoze my beautiful wife was taken unconcious midnight strolls."

"You are too kind," she said, gazing down at her oatmeal. The steaming had subsided.

"I should let you know, my dear," Erik said, "that I will be leaving the city today, and I doubt I shall be here once you get home."

"Leaving?" She asked in confusion. "Why? What for?"

"Business," Erik said, sounding very casual, "I shall not trouble you with it. I merely didn't want for you to be frightened when you returned to an empty house."

"When will you be home?" Christine questioned, hoping she didn't sound too clingy.

"Quite late, I imagine. You needn't worry though, I shall be back to give you a lesson."

Christine beamed. "Good."

The rest of their dialogue was idle chatter, and soon, Christine had to leave. "Goodbye, Erik. Be safe," she said sweetly, kissing the mask.

"Goodbye, Christine," Erik breathed. It always made Christine so sad when she noticed just how surprised he was by the smallest acts of affection. With a mournful smile, she hurried to the opera house as fast as humanly possible.

Once she arrived, she went to her dressing room, hurriedly checking her things, before setting off to the hallway. She looked around quickly for Raoul, the cogs in her mind whirling.

"Good morning, Christine," a cheerful voice said, and Christinr turned around to see La Sorrelli, the prima ballerina.

"Have you seen the Vicomte de Chagny here today?" Christine asked, still looking.

"Actually, I did. He arrive here with his brother earlier, but they split up rather quickly."

"Did you see where he went?"

"I am afraid not," the other woman said, cheeks heating up. "In truth, I was little more concerned about Phil- I mean, the Comte-"

"Thank you anyway," Christine said, not caring about the ballerina and the Comte's romance- at least not at the moment. She set out, scanning the hallways for Raoul, and once she saw him, she all but ran.

"Good morning, Christine-" he said, beginning his usual cordial greeting, but she cut him off quickly.

"Today is the day."

"Pardon?"

"Today, Raoul. Today."

His eyes widened with the realization, and his lips turned upward. "You mean it?"

"Yes. I do. Wait for me by the door, and we can go anywhere you wish, simply to talk."

"I shall like that very much," Raoul told her genuinely. For some reason, Christine felt her ears growing warm. "I can hardly wait."

"The same can be said for me," she confessed, and then bit her lip nervously. She almost felt like a young woman arranging to court a young man, with butterflies fluttering about in her stomach...before feeling instantly ashamed. You have a husband, you stupid girl!

"I will be waiting," Raoul said, grinning before wandering off.

Christine was silent for a number of minutes, watching him closely as he walked away. "Alright," she said, trying to answer him, but it was only to herself.

* * *

 **A/N: It turns out being ill has it's benefits, as I am almost finished writing the story! It'll only be ten chapters, but that's what I sort of intended from the very beginning. However, it has quite a bit of work yet, hopefully it'll be finished by the time 2015 is over. Thank you so much for reading, and please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Ah, I feel like such a dope. Seven chapters in, and I keep forgetting to tell you something that is somewhat important, in my opinion at least. I've been trying to make this story mostly Leroux, at least with the chronology and Christine and Raoul's relationship. This story is an AU if you will, taking place after Erik brings Christine down to his lair. Seeing as we are visiting Raoul more now, I feel that's relevant. And since there seems to be a bit of confusion, I feel I need to clear this up: Erik and Christine are not married, this is something Erik has come up with to give himself happiness. I apologize if this hasn't been clear.**

 **This story is practically finished, I just really have to cement the ending. I don't know how you guys will feel about it, but I feel confident it's the ending that it needs to be. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter; I certainly hope you enjoy it. And I'd like to thank you all for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. I'm very grateful for it, and it makes this experience so enjoyable for me.**

 **Whew, that was long note. On with the chapter, shall we?**

* * *

Christine nervously inspected herself in the mirror, hoping she appeared presentable. Raoul, being vicomte, was more likely than not taking her to some expensive resturant, and she was pleased that the clothing Erik had purchased for her was high quality and presentable for all occasions. She began to fuss with her blonde locks before biting her lip anxiously. _It's now or never._

Christine turned her gaze away from the mirror and left her dressing room. Raoul was leaning casually against the wall before grinning. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Christine said with a shaky laugh. Raoul apeared uneased by this answer as he frowned, but he offered her his arm, and she accepted it politely. "Where are we going?"

"I didn't think you wish to go somewhere too fancy," Raoul replied, "so I thought we'd go to a nearby café. That is, unless..."

"That sounds perfect," Christine interjected. "Thank you."

The pair chatted idly as they made their way to the door, blissfully unaware as to the pair of yellow eyes following them.

* * *

"Goodness," Christine said, shuddering as she stepped outside, "it's a rather chilly day."

Raoul was instantly alarmed. "I can give you my coat, if you'd like," he offered, already beginning to slip off the garment.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly-"

But Raoul wasn't going to take no for an answer. "There," he said, smiling down at her.

"Raoul, you'll get cold!" She insisted loudly.

"I'll be fine. Please, Christine-"

"Oh, alright," she huffed as they reached Raoul's carriage. He opened up the door. "After you, my lady," he said, bowing gallantly. She laughed as she stepped in, and Raoul took the moment to instruct the driver where to take them before climbing in himself.

"Would...would you like to talk here?" He asked hesitantly, not wishing to offend her as the carriage began moving. "Or would you rather wait until we reached the cafe?"

Christine sighed wearily. "I suppose we might as well talk now. There is no point in delaying it now." But her actions did not match her words. She was fidgeting in her seat, wringing her hands together.

Still, Raoul nodded, ready for the information. "I confess, I know not where to begin."

Christine grinned in spite of herself. "All this, and you have no idea what to say to me, Raoul de Chagny?" She asked teasingly.

Raoul felt his face grow hot. "I, uh, I..."

"Would you rather I start?"

"That might be best, yes," he admitted, still flushed.

She bit her lip. It was nervous habit of hers, he remembered. "What made you think we were such close companions?"

Raoul blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I know of our friendship, when we were by the sea," Christine told him, "but...if we haven't seen each other for years, then why were you so...familiar with me when I returned?"

He was embarrassed by her choice of words, but he said, "Well, I thought we were...I thought our friendship had been resumed."

"Resumed?" Her eyebrows were furrowed, and he noticed her blue eyes scanning his face. "What do you mean?"

Now Raoul was concerned. "I went with you to Perros," he said, his tone serious, "we visited your father's grave, and your Angel was there. Then I was attacked."

"Attacked?" A hand covered Christine's mouth as gasped. "That's ghastly!"

"You make this sound like news. But I told you about it!" Raoul's voice was urgent, and he gripped the edges of his seat as the panic set in. He noticed as the woman before him grew very pale. "Christine, what has happened?"

She pursed her lips together. "Tell me about yourself?"

"You didn't answer me."

"Please, Raoul. I'm begging you," she pleaded, and the desperate look in her eyes only worried him all the more.

But still, he nodded, deeply uneased, and, if he was competely honest with himself, a bit annoyed that she was dodging his question. "What do want to know?"

"Your favorite color. Your lucky number. Anything."

"My favorite color," he said slowly, "is yellow."

She smiled, and he sensed it was genuine, although clearly strained. "I like yellow, too, but mine is blue."

"Blue is a nice color." This small talk was already maddening, but he forced himself to remain patient. It was one of his best qualities, he felt, and he needed more than ever to be patient, for Christine's sake. He trusted she had a reason for all this.

They sat in silence for a moment. "Do you have favorite opera?" She implored. "I know you're brother is a patron, so you attend frequently, but I know that doesn't necessarily mean that you like opera."

"Well, of course I like opera," Raoul insisted, "I will admit, I don't know very much about it, but I do like watching it. But I would say my favorite opera has to be _The Marriage of Figaro_."

"A comedy," she commented with a smile. "Mine is _Otello_."

"Really?" He arched his right eyebrow. Somehow, to him, it didn't seem like her sort of opera.

"Well..." she began trailing off. "I like the duet between Desdemona and Otello. It get it stuck in my head quite often."

"It is a beautiful piece."

"What about your favorite season?" She pressed on, "I like summer the most."

"As do I. But, Christine, please allow me to ask you this, but why are we talking about this?"

"About our favorite seasons?" She asked innocently.

"About...about ourselves. In this way. About our favorite things."

"The way I see it," Christine said, "it is an easy way to get to know one another."

"But in the past we asked these questions before!"

"Raoul," she said gently, "That was when we were children. We are adults now."

He nodded. "I suppose I see your point. But...will you tell me what is going on?"

The smile that was on her face stiffened, looking forced. "Perhaps. But probably not today." Her eyes were downcast. "If you don't mind, I would rather not speak of it."

Raoul pressed his lips together. He didn't like the way she spoke. Almost as if she was hiding a dreadful secret. It was disheartening that she still didn't trust him, wouldn't speak to him after all his weeks of waiting just to sit with her... But when she looked upwards, her blue eyes pleading with him, he knew had lost this battle, and, for some reason, he didn't seem to care. "Alright. I shan't mention it again. So what is your favorite part about being a prima donna?"

Christine beamed at him, but let out an amused sigh. "I am not a prima donna yet, you silly man!"

"You shall be soon! With a voice like yours, it's inevitable."

"Oh, you flatter me too much!" Christine said, pretending to be embaressed before giggling.

For the rest of the ride, the carriage was filled with merry laughter.

* * *

Raoul had opened the door for her already, his eyes scanning her face eagerly for approval. "It is a nice place, I hope you'll like it-"

"I am sure it's a wonderful place," Christine assured him, gracing him with a sweet smile. In truth, Christine had to admit, she was growing fond of the once bothersome man and admired his chivalrous nature. "Shall we go in, monsieur?"

"I believe we shall, my lady," he said, adopting a snobbish tone before they promptly burst into laughter yet again. He held out his arm for her, and she eyed it carefully. Was it wrong to accept another man's arm when you were married? "You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Raoul told her quickly, flustered. "I wasn't trying to-"

Christine hurried linked her arm through his before giving him an assuring smile. Surprised, Raoul's eyes widened, but he grinned in spite of it, and he lead her to the door of the café before opening it for her. "After you, madmoiselle."

"Thank you," Christine said in posh, pompous tone, causing Raoul smirk in amusement. "Shall we find ourselves a table?"

"Certainly," Raoul stated, his eyes looking through the crowded restaurant. "Where would you like to sit?"

Christine glanced around. "Anywhere you wish to sit is fine by me. But I do like that seat over there, by the window-"

"Then by the window it is," Raoul said, and the pair walked over to the window. It was now, that Christine noticed, she drew compare between Raoul and Erik. Erik was her husband, of course, and they displayed certain amounts of affection for one another. But with Raoul...even the simple act of linking arms and feeling the comfortable heat radiate from his body somehow felt more intimate. With Erik, there was no warmth, only the soft digging of thin bone against her arm. _It isn't Erik's fault he's cold!_ Christine reprimanded herself, suddenly feeling very guilty as she took her place across from Raoul. Soon, a waiter wandered to the pair, and they ordered beverages out of courtesy.

Raoul frowned, as he observed her demeanor. "Christine, are you alright?" He questioned softly with concern.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"Because just now you furrowed your brow and looked very upset."

"Oh...I did?" Christine chuckled lightly. "You needn't worry so much."

Raoul still didn't seem quite convinced, but nodded anyways. "Perhaps I do. Worry too much. I know you have told me that you are safe, but...I have a wild imagination, you see. And nothing good comes from that," he laughed quietly now. "I trust you. I do not want you thinking that I don't because I do. I am just...worried that perhaps you have been too naïve and are not as safe as you think," he finished awkwardly.

"Raoul. I have told you, I am safe," Christine said once more, but not unkindly, "I am under the utmost protection, and I assure you, no harm shall come my way."

Raoul's lips turned downwards. "Are you referring to your Angel of Music?"

"I suppose you could call him that, yes."

Perturbed, he continued on. "Christine, if you don't mind me saying so, there is something suspicious about this whole business with your Angel. Your father was wonderful, brilliant man, but I do not believe that even he could summon an Angel to visit you once-"

Now it was Christine's turn to be suprised. "Summon an Angel? You make it sound like my father has told an Angel from Heaven to visit me!"

"That's what you told me!" Raoul blurted out suddenly. "I mean, you told me that he had told you that he would. Last time in Perros."

Christine began giggling outright. "Oh, Raoul! The Angel of Music is merely a byname! He isn't an a literal angel!"

"But you told me last time it was!" Raoul declared. "Don't you remember?"

Christine was deeply unsettled. Was Raoul not right in the head? This must be an elaborate joke...but the truth was in his eyes. "I-I believe you have been greatly mistaken," she stammered. She began looking around, ready to rise from her seat. Suddenly, this whole affair seemed unsuitable.

It dawned on Raoul suddenly. "You don't remember, do you?" He asked in awe. "That is why you seem so surprised...you don't remember."

She froze in her seat, staring down at the table. "Christine." Her name fell from his lips gently, soothing her. She looked up to see a look of fresh sympathy written across the young man's face. "I am so sorry."

"You shouldn't be-"

"But I do. I am sorry it happened. You must have been so confused...and I only made it worse, didn't I?" He added with a touch of bitterness.

"Don't say that, Raoul!" Christine protested.

"But it is the truth! You thought me some...some fiend! And what did I do? I persued you!"

"You had no idea of knowing!" She cried out. "Trust me, Raoul, I tried to keep it hidden, I really did. I...I didn't want you to find out. Not this way." It was now that she felt the hot prickling tears forming in her eyes. Her lips trembled. "I am so sorry," she said, "for trying to hide it. For being so...so beastly to you. All you wanted to do was help me. You are too good, Raoul, truly." She looked up, and observed the sadness in his gaze. "I've...I've managed to ruin this evening, haven't I? I ought to go home-"

"No!" Raoul cried out, gently clasping her smaller hand under his large one. "Please don't leave. You haven't ruined anything at all. In fact, it sheds light onto this whole situation. And I shall help you, if you want it. Oh, Christine!" He exclaimed in alarm as tears trickled down her face. "Have I managed to upset you? Here," he said hastily, pulling out a handkerchief "take this."

Christine accepted it, dabbing at her eyes as she said, "You haven't upset me at all, Raoul. I'm...very grateful. And touched."

The vicomte's face morphed from concerned to overjoyed over her words. "I mean it. I will help you, in any way that I can. I swear upon it."

"You are too kind," Christine said, smiling at him, unaware of the fact their hands were still touching.

"Christine...if I may ask...how did it happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did you manage to lose your memory?"

Christine allowed herself a deep sigh. "I am afraid I don't have a terribly exciting tale...but I fell down stairs."

"Fell?"

"Yes, and I managed to get a nasty bump on my head. It has cleared up now," she added hurriedly as she watched Raoul's eyes dart frantically toward the top of her head.

"What was it that made you fall?" Raoul inquired.

"I haven't a clue," Christine confessed, "I believe it was just clumsiness on my part." _And I dragged poor Erik down with me._

 _Erik._ Christine's eyes widened, and she felt that awful feeling of guilt rising up once more. Seeing their hands still grasped together, she pulled hers away quickly. "Well...I am glad you are feeling better now."

"What? Oh, yes, of course," Christine said hastily, "I feel grand."

"Have you remembered anything about your past?" Raoul said. Then, with a redness in his cheeks, added, "If I am asking questions I shouldn't, feel free to disregard them."

Christine's gaze softened. "Do not worry so much, Raoul. After all, we are friends, aren't we? But, yes, I remembered a memory. With my father. We were...we were at a beach," Christine recalled. "There was a breeze...I was crying...and I had lost my scarf."

Raoul's eyes widened. "Your red scarf?"

Red scarf? That night she'd remembered...it was a ref scarf, wasn't it? "Yes."

"It blew out into the sea," Raoul said excitedly, "and I jumped in and rescued it for you."

As soon as the words managed to leave his lips, the whole scene was recreated in Christine's mind of a small boy with fair hair, soaked and holding a dripping red scarf in the air triumphantly. "It was you!" Christine exclaimed, elated, "You were the little boy! Papa pointed you out to me..." Of course! That must have been how they became friends in the first place, by the sea!

In the excitement, the couple had managed to grab one another's hands once more, beaming at one another. "I can't believe it," Christine whispered happily. "I remember. Well, a bit, at least. I haven't remembered anything in months from before my accident-"

"I will help you regain your memories," Raoul promised her, "I know it won't be easy, in likelihood, but I'll try my hardest. Anything to help you."

Christine felt a swell of affection within her chest. "Oh, Raoul," she said, and suddenly, behind him in the window, she saw a glowing flash of a familiar yellow. A pair of yellow eyes... "Oh, my God!" She gasped, as she looked out the window. Erik's eyes were fixed on her for only a second more before he disappeared into dark night streets. "Oh, no," she moaned, burying her face into her hands.

"What?" Raoul asked, concernedly. "Christine, what is the matter?"

"My husband. He was...he was just outside the window..."

"Your _husband_?" Raoul was beyond shocked. "You...you are married?"

"Yes," Christine replied in a small voice, shame filling. "And now, I have to go. He's seen me."

"Is he waiting for you?" Raoul demanded.

"I...I don't know. But...I have to go home..." she explained weakly.

"And go home you shall. I...I wouldn't want to cause any difficulties between you and your...husband." The word was said with awkwardness. "But I refuse to let you leave if he isn't out there waiting for you." Raoul looked down at the ground, looking...embaressed. "It's not safe for a woman to be out so late unaccompanied. I will give you a ride home if he isn't here."

As awful as she felt, Christine gave the vicomte a small smile. "Thank you, Raoul."

The two shuffled out of the café with awkwardness. Christine craned her head down the side of the café. No Erik. "Erik?" She called out nervously.

"His name is Erik?"

"Yes. Erik, are you there?" Christine called out. A suddenly gust of icy wind blew through, causing Christine to shiver.

"I don't think he's here," Raoul said.

"I don't, either." Yet another cold blast swept through. "I suppose...we ought to go then."

"I suppose so." The two trekked about before finding Raoul carriage. Christine hurriedly gave the driver her address before Raoul opened the door for her.

"I...I had no idea you were married."

"It's a secret. I didn't want to take attention away from the opera." _Or so I've been told._

Raoul was clearly puzzled. "So. Erik. I can't say as I recall ever meeting anyone by that name. What is his surname?" He asked politely.

Christine froze in horror as she wracked her memory. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't even know my full name." She began to feel faint. "Oh, God..."

"He hasn't told you?" Raoul asked in disbelief, scandalized. "I understand you have lost your memory, but- I am sorry, I shouldn't speak that way."

"No, I...I suppose...it is strange, that our last name ever came up. But...I don't think it was intentional," she justified. "Erik is a very busy man, you see."

"Ah."

"Raoul?"

"Yes?"

"I...I had a lovely evening with you. And...I don't think Erik will be pleased, but...if it is at all possible, I would love to see you again. That is, unless you don't wa-"

"I'd love to," Raoul interjected quickly. "Do not worry so. After all," he smirked, "we are friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are. I don't know I can possibly thank you for everything you've done."

"Christine, I want to help you. You are...every since we were children, you've been my truest of friends. Many people enjoy being around me simply due to my status, but...you've always been good to me, Christine. It is the least I can do."

 _Oh, Raoul_. This man was too sweet for his own good. She felt guilty, dragging him into all this.

The carriage came to a complete stop. "I must be home," Christine said, feeling anxious. She had no idea how to deal with this sort of situation.

"Christine...you aren't scared of him, are you? He won't hurt you?" Raoul asked worriedly. "I only ask because you look so afraid and so pale...I would never be able to forgive myself if I let you go in there and...something happened. He will not harm you?"

"No, Raoul. I assure you, he will not. He loves me," she told him.

Raoul still seemed wary. "If you are certain..."

"I am."

Raoul nodded, and opened the carriage door for her, looking very grim. "Goodbye, Christine," he said with a smile, albeit a very weak one.

"Goodbye, Raoul." A part of her wished she could kiss him on the cheek, just to show him that she was going to be fine, but modesty and guilt joined forces to stop her and Raoul hopped into his carriage, and soon, he drove off, leaving Christine in the bitter chill.

"It's time for you to go in, Christine," she told herself, ignoring the lurching within her stomach as she walked towards the door, readying herself to face Erik. "It's now or never." She twisted the door open, anxiously awaiting what was behind her door.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello, my wife," Erik greeted her amiably as she walked through the door, sitting comfortably in his chair, glancimg through a brown leather book. "Has your evening been full of excitement? I must confess, I was surprised you weren't here when I arrived home," Erik now sat down the novel in his hands on his chair as he stood up, "but you are a very good wife, so I didn't fret." He was mocking her and she knew it as he strode closer and closer towards her.

"I did have an enjoyable evening," Christine said carefully, "I went out with a friend."

Erik's eyes glinted with amusement. "A friend, you say?"

"Yes. A very dear friend."

"Curious." Erik was now standing in front of her now. "You look terribly pale, Christine. Wouldn't you like to warm up, by the fireplace? I'm sure I can fetch you a hot beverage, if you so wished it." His voice was sharp and cruel, full of bitterness.

"I'm quite fine, thank you, but thank you for the offer," Christine said with full composure, not a nearly as frightened as she had been before. It was as if something had come alive within her, an indignance that had been repressed. It was the same feeling she had that night in their home under the opera house.

"Why did you do it, Christine?" Erik asked almost sadly, "Why did you try decieving your Erik?"

"I could ask you the same," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "You said you had business to attend to, but I saw you tonight. Why did you lie to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Erik asked snidely.

"No, no it's not. How on Earth did you even find out I was meeting Raoul?"

"Why were you meeting with another man?"

"I asked first."

"I've been waiting for my answer for far longer. Tell me, Christine," Erik commanded forcefully.

Christine dropped her gaze. What could she tell him? "I don't know," she confessed in a hushed voice.

"You don't know?" Erik inquired, his volume growing louder and louder.

Christine's heart began pounding hard within her chest. "I was going to tell you, honestly. But...you dislike him. I just wanted a friend, Erik. You are a very good husband to me, but..."

"But what?" Erik cut in, "Am I not good enough? Did you wish to befriend him and hopefully connive him into helping you get away from your monster of a husband?"

Christine gasped loudly at Erik. "Of course not!" She exclaimed, "What sort of person do you think I am? I can't believe you would think such a thing of me!"

"I haven't a clue as to what goes through your mind!"

"So don't assume the worst of me!" Christine yelled. Her fists were clenched tightly at her side as she glared at her masked husband. "And I just told you what it was I wanted! I wanted a friend! I don't have any friends! Ever since I lost my memory, I don't know who half those people in the opera house are, and I just wanted someone to talk to besides you!" Her whole body was shaking now in a righteous fury.

Erik remained frozen for a moment before he began chuckling quietly. "Oh, Christine," he said, oblivious to her rising anger, "you are a sweet girl, but a vert naïve one. The vicomte loves you, you know. He is a serpent in disguise. He shall pretend to be your friend to seduce you and lure you away from me."

"The hell he is!" Christine exclaimed before she could stop herself, succeeding in surprising Erik, who had now backed away subconsciously in shock, "Raoul is a sweet man, and he immediately offered to take me home once I saw you. And he'd rather be my friend than nothing at all," she added almost as an afterthought. "You are a jealous man, and I know that. That's why I inteneded on keeping my friendship a secret until I knew you could tolerate the idea of me having another companion. But how did you find out I was meeting him in the first place? You must have known, or else you wouldn't have been there. So how?"

Erik cleared his throat, "There is a very simple explination to all this, my dear. But I believe we should focus more on-"

"Erik. Tell me. Now."

"You...you have heard of the Opera Ghost, correct?"

"Of course I have. What does a silly rumor created by over-excitable ballerinas have to do with anything- Oh!"

"Yes," Erik said, and Christine sensed he was smiling behind his mask with grim satisfaction. _That damn mask..._

"You are the Opera Ghost?" She sputtered in disbelief.

"Yes."

"...What in God's name would possess you to do such a thing? Pretending to be a _ghost_?" Christine walked across the parlor to fall down into the chair, giving him a look of bewilderment.

"I am highly knowledgeable on music, as you know. Unfortunately, the managers are not. I offer suggestions to help the opera run more smoothly," he paused for a moment before continuing on, "Your fool of a boy kept reserving my seat, you see, hence you left your illicit letters in _my_ box."

"You sound like a mad man," Christine said, feeling lightheaded. "You...you write letters to the managers...and that's why you were living under the opera house." Everything was slowly making sense.

"Well, not quite. The Opera Ghost exists because I lived in the opera house, not the other way around."

The puzzle that had been her life was beginning to form a hazy picture. "How did we meet, Erik?" She whispered, her eyes clenched shut tightly. She didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to see anything could possibly distract her.

"What on Earth does that have to do with anything?" Erik scoffed.

"Tell me how we met. How did a mysterious ghost manage to capture the attentions of an opera singer?"

"I will tell you later," Erik replied brusquely, "It is a long story. But right now, it is late, and you need sleep for tomorrow. We will discuss everything in the morning," He said, lifting her out the chair.

She gasped quickly. "Why aren't you telling me? It should be a simple answer, shouldn't it?" Christine asked. Her vision began to blur with unshed tears. "Erik, I am so confused. Why can't you just tell me?" She was crying now. "I can't remember anything! What happened to me? Why can't I remember? Why won't you help me?" Her tears were falling quickly, awful, ugly sobs escaping her. Her face was red, and halfway through her sentence, she began speaking Swedish.

Erik was left dubious as he watched the poor girl weeping uncontrolably. "Dear, how about you go to bed and calm down? We can talk in the morning, you need rest," he urged gently as he could. When she didn't respond, she felt his arm wrap around her waist and lead her to the steps. She didn't even have the will to smack his arm away like she would have wanted to, and instead let him lead her to her bedroom.

"Do try and get rest," Erik said softly before shutting the door, leaving her to stand blankly in the door way, sniffling loudly. The room was dark, save for moonlight streaming in the window. "At least Raoul wants to help me," she declared melodramatically to nobody but herself, and walked over to her bed where she sat down and stared at the sheets, where her tears fell and lightly stained them like drops of rain.

* * *

It had been nearly an hour and Christine had managed to sufficiently stop crying, but her mind was restless as she lay in her bed. How had she met Erik, and why hadn't he answered her? Why didn't he like Raoul? What else was he trying to hide from her? And finally, the biggest question of all, _why hadn't she seen what was behind that mask?_

Christine strained her mind, trying as hard as she possibly could conjure up a memory, but to no avail. Her mind was simply an empty slate: devoid of everything save for following few months and snapshots of things from her past.

"Remember, remember, remember," she muttered, tossing and turning turbulently. "Think, think, think!"

She decided to start from the beginning. She remembered the sea, where she was with her dear Papa, and Raoul saved her scarf. Could there be more?

 _"Thank you," she said meekly, staring down at the thin red scarf, which was dripping with saltwater._

 _"My name is Raoul," he announced to her, sounding happy to do so. He was grinning widely, exposing a gap-toothed grin. "What is your name?"_

 _"Christine."_

 _"I like it. It's pretty, like you."_

Christine smiled victoriously. "Oh, Raoul." He really was sweet boy, and an even sweeter man. She found herself regretting the weeks of treating him so wretchedly.

"At least I am getting somewhere," she said aloud, "I don't think I need anymore memories from the past sneaking up on me now."

She did really feel quite guilty, only recalling memories of Raoul, when Erik was the man she had married. Besides, her and Raoul had been childhood friends and nothing more, whereas Erik was someone she was living with, and she hardly knew a thing. _I don't even know his favorite color_ , she thought a bit sadly, it's probably black. _But I should ask him tomorrow, shouldn't I?_

Content for now, Christine rolled herself into a comfortable position, letting her eyes close wearily, surrendering to sleep's sweet-

 _"He isn't doing well, is he?" Raoul asked sadly opened the back door, which lead to Mama Valerius's garden. It was a lovely summer's sunset, and the flowers were in bloom. It was such a pretty sight, Christine thought, and it was a shame she couldn't appreciate it._

 _"No, he's not."_

 _"I am so sorry," her companion told her genuinely, "I always enjoyed my times with your father. He was a genius with the violin." He stopped to smile widely. "Remember how he tried teaching me to play?"_

 _Christine giggled in spite of herself as she sat down on the wooden bench. "Of course I do."_

 _Raoul grimaced. "I was awful."_

 _"Oh, don't say that!" Christine admonished as he sat down beside her, "You were much better than I ever was. I still can't play. I'm terrible when it comes to insturments..." Tears welled up in her eyes._

 _"Don't cry," Raoul said softly, reaching for her hand._

 _"But I can't...he was always so good at...I'll never make him proud...my children..." The tears were pouring down her face and she couldn't stop them. All the horrible thoughts that had been plaguing her mind were now being voiced and she couldn't handle them. But Raoul hugged her and held her close to him, letting her cry into his shoulder._

 _"Of course you'll make your father proud," he whispered to her gently, "With a voice like yours, your bound to be a prima donna at an opera house someday." At this, she let out a choked laugh. "And who knows? Maybe I'll find someone who can teach me to play the violin. And then, when we get married, I can play for you, and make you happy. And for our children, too."_

 _"Married? You want to marry me?" Christine asked, astonished. Her blue eyes were still watery and red. "But...but I'm just the daughter of a poor violin player...and you're a vicomte."_

 _"I don't care about that at all, Christine," Raoul told her, completely serious. "All I care about is you."_

 _"But you're brother...he won't-"_

 _"Christine. I love you." Raoul squeezed her hand. "I'll find a way to make it work. Trust me. Unless..." he paused, "unless you don't feel the same way, then I understand completely and in that case, you don't have to worry about a thing, I swear it-"_

 _"Oh, Raoul, you silly man!" Christine interrupted, trying to contain her laughter. "You can stop your rambling because I love you too."_

 _Raoul looked shocked for a moment before grinning. "Then may I kiss you?"_

 _"Certainly," Christine said, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach as Raoul leaned in. It was a quick kiss, a chaste one, and still Christine was dazed even after he'd pulled away. He leaned over and plucked an iris, handing it to her. "For you."_

 _"Thank you," she said as she accepted it, sniffing the flower and leaning her head on his shoulder before closing her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to live forever in that moment, and focus on nothing but the warm breeze and the sound of Raoul's heart thudding quickly within his chest._

Christine sat upright in bed, gasping loudly. "No," she whispered in the silence, "but...he was...just..." She couldn't form any more words. Gulping, Christine stood up, and walked over the mirror, staring into it blankly. In her memory, she was...happy. Hopeful. Excited.

But now, every emotion she'd felt in the past few months dimmed in comparision. In that garden, she was alive, but sitting here in her house, her house with Erik, she felt as if she were living a lie, half of a life. _But why?_ Shouldn't she be happy? Erik was...she had married him, and for a good reason. What ever that reason was.

Her skin was pale, unhealthily pale, her hair was lifeless, her eyes were vacant. She didn't feel right, looking at herself in that mirror. How was she the same person as who she was in the memory? Her head was spinning, she felt ill. Something was very, very wrong with her life.

"What happened to me?"

* * *

Erik had spent the greater half of the night weaving a story to tell Christine once she woke. It was clear that the boy was filling her head with thoughts of regaining her memory, which would bring an end to Erik's lovely life he had created. He had to give Christine a convincing tale, one that would reassure her that she was precisely where she belonged, and then (nicely) request that she abandon her persuit to become friends with the vicomte. Madame Giry, his loyal boxkeeper, had a daughter in the ballet; Meg was her name, and he was fairly certain she'd be able to keep good company with her.

Erik had finished preparing Christine's breakfast when she walked down the steps. He nearly dropped her plate once he saw her. Instead of the effervescent excitable beaming blonde he was used to greeting stood a woman who looked as if she hadn't slept a wink. She looked lifeless, and dark circles ran under her eyes. Nonetheless, he forced out a cheery, "Good morning, my dear."

"Good morning, Erik," Christine responded flatly.

"Did you get a sufficient amount of rest last night?" He asked lightly, setting her plate down in front of her, knowing her answer.

"No, not really," she said bluntly before digging into her breakfast.

"I'm sorry. Would you like to stay home today? I would hate for you to feel under the weather..."

"No, I have things I simply must do," she said, dismissing him.

"If you are certain-"

"I am."

"-then you shall go," Erik finished, admittedly astonished. His Christine never cut him off, and was never so blunt! Perhaps it was merely because she was sleep deprived...yes, of course it was. Erik was rarely irritable for that reason alone, he had long since adapted to an irregular sleep schedule.

Erik took his seat across from Christine, who was staring down at her plate as she ate. "I did promise you I would tell you how we met, didn't I?" Erik asked gently.

"Yes, I believe you did." She still wasn't looking at him.

"Ah, yes. Well...I'll give you the shortened version. You see, you had previously been in the chorus, which is far from where you deserved to be," Erik began. In truth, he wasn't lying, not very much, at least. "You were timid as a mouse, but your voice was heavenly. So, I took it upon myself to give you lessons. And my goodness, how wonderful you were. You blossomed like a rare, beauteous flower, and soon, over time, we began falling madly in love with one another. Music, you know, has the power to bind people together. And so, I managed to pluck up the nerve to propose, and much to my amazement, you accepted. We wed two months later, and here we are today."

"That's a lovely story," Christine said, and she was smiling now. Good.

"I'm happy you enjoyed it, my dear," Erik said, truly pleased. "And I'm even happier you are in higher spirits than you were last night."

"Well, I have had my time to think things over, and perhaps I was a bit rash last night."

"Ah, yes. Well, I forgive you, my dear," Erik said, grinning behind his mask, even more delighted to see that Christine was smiling as well.

"You know," Christine said loftily, "it was rather foolish of me, to befriend the vicomte. It isn't as if he'd have time for little old me."

"I'm glad you've reached that decision on your own. I was going to suggest that instead you begin persuing company with Meg Giry, the boxkeeper's daughter."

"She is a ballerina, isn't she? She is a very good dancer," Christine commented.

"That she is." This couldn't have worked out better if Erik had planned it himself! She had fallen into his trap all on her own without even a slightest nudge from Erik!

"I'll talk to her today, then. She seems nice enough, and she'd probably be better company then that snob of a vicomte!" Christine let out a short laugh.

"A snob, was he?"

"Oh, yes!" She said, nodding, "I know I made an awful fuss about how he wanted to help me regain my memories, which he did, but he spent most of the time droning on and on about his chateaux."

Erik couldn't help but chuckle. "So you are no longer upset with your poor old Erik?"

Christine smiled charmingly. "Why, of course not! Should I be?" Something about the way she said it uneased Erik. "Oh, dear! Look how time has flown by! I have to head off to work!" She quickly stood up, abandoning her breakfast and ran to fetch her coat and hat before departing for work.

* * *

Christine grinned victoriously to herself. He had fallen into her trap and she had to do was give him the slightest push. The brisk winter's air stung at her cheeks, but she didn't care. She was going to get her life back.

* * *

 **A/N: One of the things I liked about writing this chapter was the fact both Erik and Christine both believe they have the upper hand of the situation. It's almost like a game of chess in the last half of the chapter. I hope you enjoyed this, and please share your thoughts with me!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: And here is the conclusion of the story! I don't know what you'll think, but I do hope you enjoy and drop a review.**

* * *

Christine arrived to opera house just in time to have a quick word with Raoul, who looked very concerned once he saw her. "Christine! My God, you look..."

"Terrible?" She supplied.

"No-"

"Raoul, I have a mirror at home," she said with a genuine smile his way, a weak attempt at humor, "don't worry, I know I look a dreadful sight, but I couldn't care less right now." She paused. "Here, come into my dressing room. I would like to speak to you, in private."

"You don't look terrible," Raoul interjected as she opened the door, observing the dark circles around her eyes, "just... very tired. Did you sleep last night?" He asked her nervously, knotting his hands together.

"Barely. I...I had the strangest thing happen. I began remembering things."

Raoul beamed delightedly as he shut the door behind him, "That's wonderful news. But I must ask before you continue on; was your husband angry with you when you got home?" He, too, had been plagued with thoughts all night, still worried about how this man might react.

"Well...he wasn't happy. He seemed to think we were meeting up for some horrible, illicit reasons. Erik is a jealous man." Christine did her best keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"I don't quite blame him," Raoul said honestly, "but you set his mind at ease, didn't you? We can still be friends?"

Christine paused before responding. "His mind is at ease. For now. And...maybe this bold of me to say, but I don't think I should have to ask my husband for permission on who to befriend."

Raoul privately agreed with her, but he was still uneasy. "So...he thinks you are going to give me the slip?"

"Yes."

"But you aren't?"

"No. You are my friend."

"But Christine, that's dishonest!"

"In my defense, I believe he's been dishonest with me," Christine told him, "Something feels...off."

Raoul pursed his lips. "Two wrongs don't make a right, Christine." As much as he wanted to be with Christine, even just as friends, he didn't want to be the cause for the end of a marriage.

She sighed. "I know that, Raoul. Truly, I do. But I have to figure out what he's hiding." Christine paused. "Well...there is one thing I am certain he's hiding."

"Well, what is it?"

"...his face."

Raoul gaped, thoroughly horrified. "You've never seen your own husband's face? But Christine!" First her own last name, and now his face? What sort of twisted existence was Christine living? He now suddenly understood her secrecy.

She groaned. "It sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud! I have yet to see my husband's face! I can't take it anymore, Raoul! I know my life isn't normal! Erik wears a mask at all times, and he's the Opera Ghost!"

"But that's just a story-"

"He told me last night he was!" Christine declared mournfully, "and he- we- lived underneath the opera house until a month ago."

Raoul looked ill, "My God..."

Christine looked close to tears. Just saying this out loud made her realize that this life she'd been living was not...rational. She had convinced herself that Erik was merely eccentric, but now she was fearing- and rightly so- that he was a madman.

"Christine," Raoul said, his voice full of horror, "I have to get you away from him. Husband be damned, this isn't right. You're scared now, aren't you?"

"Yes," she confessed truthfully, acknowledging what she had been avoiding.

"Then there isn't a moment to spare," Raoul said firmly, taking her by the arm, "I'm going to get you away from him. Today."

Christine shook her head, feeling dizzy. "No...he'll come after you. I don't want that. I don't know how, but he will." She gulped. "And...it isn't as if he's ever harmed me. There's no reason..." It seemed so cruel, to leave him without a word. What if she was overreacting? Each passing thought sent waves of guilt through her.

"Is there anywhere else you could go, then?" Raoul asked. "For the time being? One way or another, you need to get out of his house, today."

"No...I don't think so..." Christine trailed off. "Wait! No, there is a place...Nadir! Nadir Khan! He is a friend of Erik's, but they don't get along well...it's a strange relationship. But I'm sure he can help. He told me I could go to him."

Raoul didn't seem convinced. "Won't Erik go there first to find you?"

She hesitated. "Perhaps. But if I can leave early enough...before he suspects...Oh, God! He'll be devastated!" She cried out. "I can't leave him! Ever! He...he worships the ground I walk on! He devoutly dotes upon me every hour of the day! He is gentle, Raoul, and kind too...why do I fear him now, all of a sudden?" Christine slouched down miserably onto the chair and began crying.

Raoul was frozen for a moment, feeling irrevocably broken as he watched her cry, knowing whatever he said, he would never truly put her mind at ease. She was too kind hearted. "Christine...I won't pretend that I know in the slightest of what Erik is like...but you must listen to your instincts," he kneeled down in front of her, "What's even more concerning is that you cannot remember a single thing about him from before, and that he hasn't even tried helping you...unless you remembered something about him last night. You did say you remembered something, didn't you?" He asked her gently.

Christine nodded, "Two things."

"What were they, then."

"Well...one was you. With my scarf. When we first met." Raoul smiled at the memory as he replayed it in his own mind. "And...and when you visited Papa. When he was ill. And we went to the garden." Raoul's cheeks instantly flushed. "Were you telling the truth?"

"Pardon?"

"When you said you loved me," Christine sniffled, "Were you telling me the truth? Or did you just feel sorry for me?"

"Feel sorry for you?" Raoul chuckled softly. "No, of course not. I meant what I said. I love you." He spoke firmly, yet his hands trembled, betraying his thoughts.

"You still do?" Christine questioned tearfully.

"Yes," he confessed, "I never stopped. And I doubt I ever will." He waited. "Do...do you love me?"

Christine stared at him with wide eyes before he said hastily, "Never mind, that was a stupid question, you don't have to answer-"

"Oh, Raoul, you silly man," Christine interupted with a watery smile, "I...I have so much on my mind that it hasn't even occured to me to even ask myself such things. But... once this whole ordeal is through, I will give you your answer, because by then, I know I'll know."

Raoul nodded, accepting her response as it was. He could wait. "And I'll look forward to your answer," he told her, suddnely feeling shy under her gaze. "Would...would you like to leave now?"

Christine pursed her lips tightly together, deep in thought. "I would hate to leave the opera house," she breathed softly, knowing that nobody would take kindly to her absence at rehearsal today, "but I need answers."

Raoul nodded. "I'll have them bring my carriage around. And I'll come with you. Do you know where Monsieur Khan lives?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Christine lamented as she shook her head.

"Well...Khan isn't a very common name. I'm sure we'll find him easily. There's ways to find people, you know. Come along, then." Raoul held out his arm, and Christine accepted it, leaning close towards him, and left the opera house.

Erik paused as he watched Christine leaving with the vicomte, his blood boiling. She had lied to him! She gad outright lied to him! The little viper... He growled. He knew there was something she'd been hiding, and she had proved his accusations right. She was running away from him!

But Erik wouldn't let her go. Not without a fight.

* * *

It took awhile, but Raoul and Christine had finally found the place of residence for Nadir Khan. He had opened the door with surprise. "Christine? What are you doing here?"

"Monsieur. Khan, please, you must help me!" She cried out desperately.

The Persian man nodded. "Of course, of course. And you are?" He asked, leering at Raoul with caution.

"The Vicomte de Chagny." Raoul's tone came out a little more possessive and arrogant that he had intended.

"He's my friend, Monsieur Khan," Christine said, shooting Raoul a look.

"Well, he can come in, too." The pair were ushered in. "Have a seat, anywhere you please it," Nadir said as he shut the door.

Raoul and Christine found two separate chairs. "I can make you some tea, if you would like," the Persian offered.

"There's no need for that," Christine said, "Please tell me about Erik. Everything you can."

Nadir's brow furrowed in confusion. "Hasn't Erik ever told you about himself?"

"Bits and pieces here and there, but not much," Christine told him, "but I am unsure. You see, about two months ago, I lost my memory. I- Erik said that I fell down a flight of stairs. I couldn't remember anything at all."

"Oh, no." Nadir seemed to have grown pale, sickly. "Erik, what have you done?" He muttered.

"What's wrong?" Raoul asked, concerned.

"Christine, I am very sorry," Nadir said, stricken with both terror and guilt, "I should have pieced everything together sooner. I figured out a short while after meeting you, of course, that you were Christine Daaé. I frequent the opera house often, of course, mostly to keep an eye on Erik. But something strange had happened; you disappeared." He paused, frowning. "How long have you been married to Erik, Christine?"

"When I woke up, he said we'd been married for a month. So...three months, I suppose."

Nadir groaned. "How could I be so stupid? Madmoiselle Daaé, I am afraid that, unless you were not living with him at the time, you had only been gone for two weeks before you returned to the opera house." Christine blood ran cold.

"So...so he lied to me?"

"What sort of man is this?" Raoul demanded, sickened.

"A very lonely man, I'm afraid," Nadir said, head bowed. "Christine, I am so sorry I did not catch on to his game before."

"He lied to me," she whispered to herself. "He lied. So...he is not my husband. And I'm not his wife."

"It would seem that way."

"Oh, God. What happened?" Christine closed her eyes, remembering the very beginning. She had awoken in darkness, but Erik was there, tending to her. He said she had fallen down a flight of stairs...they both had...where were these stairs?

"Monsieur Khan, what is this man's last name?" Raoul asked, eager for answers himself.

"He doesn't have one. He uses a wide variety of pseudonyms for when he purchases things. I am afraid he didn't have a very good childhood, and he tries very much to ignore his family life as much as possible."

"What's behind his mask, then? Christine said she's never seen his face."

Nadir sighed. "I would assume as much. Erik was born with a horrible, deformed face. He doesn't like people to see it, obviously."

"What does it look like?" Christine finally asked. Her eyes were still forced shut.

"I am unsure if you really want to know. I admit, even when I saw it, I felt ill myself."

"Please. Tell me. I am here for answers."

Nadir sighed. "To be perfectly honest, Madmoiselle, his face is reminiscent of a skull."

 ** _DAMN YOU._**

"His eyes are an unusual color, as you have no doubt noticed, but you can't really see them when his mask is off. It's as if they are sunken in."

 _She backed up quickly, her heart beating harder and harder each passing second as she looked at the horror that was his face. "Damn you!" Erik thundered as he spied the mask in Christine's hand. Letting out a cry of horror, she dropped it, letting it fall to the floor with a thud._

"I am sure, no doubt, you have heard the rumors that have circulated the opera house as to what the Opera Ghost's face look like, and most of them are true. Erik seems to get a sick sort of enjoyment from parading about unmasked, scaring the living daylights out of people."

 _"Why are you running away, Christine?" Erik snarled viciously as she unconsciously began backing up. "Are you afraid of me, hm? I did try and warn you to leave the mask alone, but did you listen?" He laughed, and it was an awful grating sound. Then, he stood up, and she was momentarily paralyzed in fear._

"Poor Joseph Bouquet. He was only doing his job when he happened upon Erik. I asked him about it shortly after, he denied killing him. He has an awful noose-like device, called a Punjab Lasso."

 _"Look at me, damn you!" Erik shouted it at her, and she whimpered in fear, hiding her eyes behind her hands, but to no avail. The grisly sight was branded permanantly into her mind. "You know, I am like Don Juan. Once a woman sees my face, she must love me forever! She can never leave me! Never, never, never!"_

 _She had heard enough. She drew her hands away, only to see the awful skeleton stalkimg towards her. She set off into a run, trying to navigate herself in the darkness of Erik's house, trying to ignore the evil things he was shouting at her._

"I know that when I first met you, you were quite devoted to him. But for the love of Allah, madamoiselle, I implore you, you must run away from him. I will be the first person to admit that Erik is worthy of love, but not when he forces you into it. He is a dangerous man. I doubt he would hurt you, as he does seem to love you very much, but you deserve a life of your own choosing, not his."

 _"Christine, oh Christine!" He called out almost joyfully, sending shivers down her spine. "Stop running now, my dear, for I'll always catch you in the end!" She was hiding now, and he was lurking close to her. It was a demented game of Cat-and-Mouse they were playing._

 _"Leave me alone!" She sobbed before she could stop herself._

 _"Oh, but Christine," he said in mock sympathy, "A woman can never leave Don Juan alone, not once she's seen his face. She must love him forever." His voice seemed to speaking directly into her right ear. Letting out a horrified shriek, she jumped up and began running again blindly, dazed and disoriented, Erik was laughing from behind her. She quickly opened the door and ran out to the lake, vainly hoping that she might find another passage to run through, or perhaps to flee with the gondola... until she suddenly, she tripped, and her head crashed into a hard surface, like rock. She fell the ground, groaning in pain._

 _"Christine!" Erik cried out in horror, seeming to snap out of his wicked counterpart's personality as her surroundings began blacking out._

 _Christine mumbled, trying to form words, but her tongue felt heavy. Had her inhibitions not been fading, she would be facing a great deal of anxiety. Now, Erik was going to keep her here with him...forever..._

"Sir, I trust you have her best intentions at heart," Nadir said, nodding at Raoul.

"Of course I do."

"Then take her far, far away from Paris. Even out of the country, if you can. Erik will be looking for her. I'd be surprised if he wasn't already aware something was amiss. You two didn't leave from the opera house, did you?"

"They did."

Christine gasped in horror as she heard Erik's voice come from the corner behind her. "I must say, I am disappointed in you, Nadir," he said from the dark corner. Her stomach churned anxiously, feeling very much like a child being scolded. She had been caught, again.

"I doubt you are as disappointed in me as I am with you," Nadir spat, disgusted. "You greatly deceived this poor young woman here."

Erik stepped out of the shadows now. "Decieved? Oh, that's an ugly word to use." Christine was cowering as she looked at the man she had lived with for nearly two months, but never truly known. After what she had seen, after what she had recalled, seeing the horror of his face was enough to frighten her.

"It's an ugly thing you did to her!" Raoul spoke up, anger in his voice.

"So we finally meet, vicomte. I see you have finally turned my wife against me," Erik said, nodding at Christine. "What did I tell you he would try and do, my dear?" His tone was patronizing.

"I am not your wife." The words were not spoken bitterly, or with malice, or even resentment or fear. They were spoken as a fact.

"Is that what these pair of goons have told you? Oh, my poor Christine-"

"Erik. Stop."

"Stop?"

"Yes. There's nothing you can possibly say anymore to make me believe you," Christine said quietly, unable to look at him. "I remember what happened. I remember when I took off your mask. And I'm very sorry for that. That was wrong of me to do something that you had specifically asked me not to do. It was an invasion of your privacy, and I know that you like your privacy. But," she continued, "what was wrong of you was to abduct me. To trick me into staying in your home even after I requested you take me back, and then to lie to me when I was in a vulnerable position in a way to fit what you want..." she shook her head. "But I forgive you."

"Christine, you don't have to-"

"No, Raoul," she cut in, now turning to look at the man, "I do. That is the only way I can possibly make things right." She now turned back to Erik, whose gaze upon her had not wavered. "In spite of all you've done, Erik, I forgive you."

"What does this mean?" Erik asked.

"This means that I don't hold it against you. As Nadir said, you are a lonely man. And, no doubt, all you have wanted in life is a woman who will love you and live her days as your wife. But I am not that woman."

Instead of a defeated, yet agreeing statement, Erik responded with a "You're wrong."

"Pardon me?"

"You're wrong. You were happy with me, Christine, don't you remember? Everything could go back to what it was. You can still become the prima donna, and we can put all this aside from us. I'll make you even happier than before, if only you'll let me." The desperation in his voice was agonizing.

Christine opened her mouth to interject, but Erik continued on. "Think about it Chirstine. You'll get what you want. Erik will get what he wants. I can even teach you other things, so you won't be so bored. I know you would grow bored every once in a while, but how about taking up watercolors? I am quite good st that, too, Christine, we could do them together. If only you stay with me."

Christine pursed her lips together, incredibly sad. "Oh, Erik. You poor, poor man. I am so sorry. But I can't." She stood up now, and held his hand. "You deserve someone who loves you. Not someone who will only be pretending. I am so sorry, but I do not love you. Not in the way you want me to."

"There is no way you can love Erik exactly as he loves you?" Erik whispered mournfully.

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Erik. I cannot. I will always remember how kind you were to me, and how well you took care of me."

"But you cannot love me?"

"Haven't you been listening? I do, in a way. You took good care of me. I only want the best for you. But love is not always romantic, Erik. You shouldn't think that way. A friend can love you, or a parent."

"My mother did not love me."

"Then she was a foolish woman," Christine told him, her voice shaking. "But I'm sure Nadir loves you. He considers you his friend. And you're my friend, too."

"Even after all I've done?" She realized now he was crying, "I am an awful man."

"You're not an awful man, Erik. You've done some bad things, but you aren't a bad person. Everyone does. I just hope that someday, you'll realize that for yourself. Goodbye, Erik," she said finally, pressing a kiss against the side of his mask as he wept.

"What will I do without you? If you are my friend, why are you leaving me?"

"Because if I don't you will fixate on me. You'll never do anything for yourself, and what good would that do any of us? Stay with Nadir for a while. He's a good friend, Erik, he looks out for you. Stay out of trouble, alright?" She said, backing away from him now. But suddenly his arm shot out, and grasped onto her tightly.

"You cannot leave me."

"Erik. I am," Christine said confidently, "Now let me go!"

"I will stop at nothing, absolutely nothing!" His voice heightened with his rising hysteria. "I will follow you anywhere you go!"

"Erik, let go of me!" Christine shrieked as his grip tightened.

"For God's sake, let her go!" Raoul barked, staring at the scene in horror, wanting nothing more than to challenge the fiend that was holding Christine captive.

"Oh, I never will, Vicomte!" Erik said, laughter in his voice as Christine struggled against him. For such a skeletal man, he had an unnatural amount of strength. "Did you really think escaping your Erik would be so easy, Christine?" Erik asked her mockingly. "Did you think a few kind words would change me?"

"I hoped it would," Christine whispered regretfully.

Erik began laughing once more when Raoul noticed Nadir coming up behind him, a syringe in his hands. Suddenly, he stabbed the needle into Erik's arm, administering the dose. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you get away with this," Nadir said forcefully as Erik grew slack, his glowing yellow eyes falling shut as he let go of Christine, "It isn't fair to make her suffer just so you can be happy." With this, Erik was unconscious.

"Lucky he didn't hear me," Nadir said thoughtfully as he stared down at the strange, masked man, "He's usually quite attentive."

"What was that you gave him?" Christine squeaked, unable to tear her eyes away from Erik's limp body, praying he wasn't dead.

"A sedative. He'll be up within an hour or so, so I reccomend the two of you leave as soon as you can," Nadir told them.

Raoul didn't seem convinced. "But Monsieur Khan, we can't just leave you. What if he tries...hurting you?"

Nadir sighed. "Erik owes his life to me. I'm sure he can give me a break just this once. Hopefully, once he wakes, he'll be in a sounder mind."

"I-I don't know to thank you, Monsieur Khan," Christine said, and it was then she had managed to drift into Raoul's arms, "Without your help, I don't know where I'd be."

"You're very welcome, Christine," Nadir said, smiling at her. "I only hope that you and the vicomte here find all the happiness you deserve."

Both parties' cheeks flushed, but Raoul said, "I am very sure we will, thank you sir."

"Now, run along! Hurry!"

Christine and Raoul nodded, hurrying out of Nadir's home. "Goodbye!" Christine shouted before they shut the door, hurrying toward the carriage.

"Did you mean it?" Raoul asked as they climbed in, "what you said to him?"

"Erik? Yes. I did. I really wanted to be able to try and remember him with a smile. I feel sorry for him," she said, casting a melancholy look towards Nadir's home. "I don't think he's had too many people treat him with compassion. And I'm sorry it had to end that way. He didn't deserve that."

Raoul nodded, privately disagreeing with her final statement. "I suppose you're right. But I can't say as I am too happy with him. Based on my experiences with him, I doubt I ever shall."

"And I wouldn't hold that against you. Just speak kindly about him, please."

"Whatever you wish," Raoul said, looking out the window at the Paris streets. "Where is it you wish to go?"

Christine sighed, "Oh, anywhere really. I'm not too picky." She waited a beat, calmly collecting her thoughts, gazing at the man across her with both deep admiration and nervousness, "And my answer to your question from earlier is yes."

"Answer? To what- oh!" Christine chuckled as he looked amazed. "You do?"

"I do."

"May I ask why?" Raoul questioned, "I mean, how is it you know?"

Christine smiled, looking down at her lap. "I suppose, in a way, I was wrong. Just because we're adults doesn't make us different people. It just means we've changed. But I think we've changed, and yet we still compliment one another. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I think I do. It makes sense to me."

"But...do you still feel the same?" She asked, quite nervous, "About me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Raoul sounded astounded she would even inquire such a thing.

"The past few months of my life have been utter chaos and I didn't even question it until recently, I thought I was married until twenty minutes ago, and now I'm running away from this city. How can you not even doubt yourself for tangling yourself into this mess?"

Raoul took her hand. "Because I love you. I want to be in your mess. And I'll help you out of it. I swear. Actually, I thought maybe we should visit your old guardian, Mama Valerius. She's been ill lately, and very worried about you." He cleared his throat. "I thought we ought to let her know that we're leaving."

"Oh." In truth, Christine didn't realize the woman was still alive. That was one of the problems of memory loss. "That's a good idea, but we should make it quick. Very quick." A pause. "So you are coming with me?"

"I will. Unless you don't want me to," he added hastily.

She laughed, "Of course I want you to, you silly man."

Raoul laughed as well. "Oh, look, we're here." He smiled. "I'll get the door for you."

"I certainly hope you realize I am perfectly capable of opening doors for myself," she said playfully.

"I know you are, but I have made it my person mission in life to make sure that you never have to open a door ever again," Raoul responded, grinning as he held out the door. She laughed as she stepped out.

It was in that moment that Christine felt...free. She was finally free to begin a new chapter of her life, a life of her own, one that would now be shrouded in darkness, but bathed in sunlight. No more secrets, no more deceptions...she glanced at Raoul, who was smiling down upon her, an expression of pure adoration. A swell of affection rose within her, and she squeezed his hand tightly.

"I love you," she told him quietly as he knocked on the door.

"And I love you, too."

All was well.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading! We have one final chapter left, but it's more of an epilogue, I feel. I hope you all enjoyed it, even though it didn't have the happiest endings for everybody (*cough* Erik! *cough*) Believe me, I sorely wish I could have given him a happier ending, or at least a redemption arc, but it just wasn't in the cards for him this story. Maybe the next one. We'll see. Once again, thank you all for reading, I would greatly appreciate your feedback.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So I actually had the tenth chapter written for a while, but the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. So, I wrote this, and I'm pretty pleased. Plus, it's longer than the original chapter, so that's good news for all of you!**

* * *

Erik opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurry. Groaning, he hoisted himself upwards off of...the floor? Where was he? He looked around his surroundings, coming to the realization that he was in Nadir's home. Now, what was he doing...?

It hit him instantly. Standing up, Erik rushed around. Where was Christine? How had this happened?

Nadir had done something, he realized. Angry, he knocked over a lamp, fuming.

"Really, Erik? That was a very nice lamp." Nadir sounded genuinely disappointed by the loss of the item.

Erik whirled around. "Where is she?" He demanded.

"Gone," he answered simply, which managed to infuriate Erik to no end.

"How?" He snarled, "How could you do such a thing?"

"Erik, even you could have seen she wasn't happy-"

"She was happy enough!" Erik's voice boomed.

"She wanted answers, and I gave them to her. It wasn't right, what you had done. You exploited her," Nadir said accusingly.

Erik was trembling in anger by this point. "Where did they go?"

"I told you. They're gone. I know nothing more than that, they didn't tell me. Why don't you return home, Erik-"

Erik responded by smashing a second lamp. "Erik, really!"

"Shut your mouth," Erik rasped, sounding pained. "You're lucky I don't strangle you with my lasso right this very minute."

Nadir was unfazed. "I don't know where they are. I would say I am sorry, but I am not. Those two deserve some peace."

Erik turned over a table. Nadir shook his head. "I will find them," Erik vowed menacingly, walking towards the door.

"You can try," Nadir called out, "but they left hours ago." The door slammed. Nadir tittered. "Honestly," he sighed, surveying the damage to his possessions, "I've never known a ruder house guest."

* * *

Christine awoke abruptly, jerking upwards and gasping for breath as if she'd been underwater. After a minute of rationalizing where she was she let out a sigh. _It was only a dream,_ she assured herself, though she still felt uneasy.

Her heart hadn't stopped thudding in her chest, so Christine quietly crawled out of bed, careful not to make too much noise and rouse Raoul from his slumber as she left her bedroom.

The darkness still frightened her yet, even after nearly four months, but Christine pushed her fear aside as she reached for a glass. The memory of glowing yellow eyes haunted her mind, popping up in her dreams. Christine turned the faucet on, eager for a glass of cool water.

Her mind was still not completely at ease as she walked over and peered out the window through the curtains. The street was dark, absent of any bit of life in the very early morning.

"What are you doing up?" Raoul's voice made her jump, but she smiled once she saw him. "Did you have another nightmare?" He asked concernedly.

"Yes," she admitted, walking over to one of their handsome arm chairs, staring down at her lap. She didn't like troubling Raoul, especially since he had done nothing but help her, especially in regaining her memories. She found that talking to him helped bring things back.

Raoul frowned. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage, walking over to her chair. He lowered himself onto one knee, reaching for her hand.

She let out a small laugh. "It isn't your fault." Christine took another sip of water.

"Still. I wish there was some way I could stop it. Some way I could help you."

"You've helped me enough," Christine said genuinely, smiling down at him. It was true. After giving Mama a quick farewell, Raoul had managed to find them a place on board a ship set for England. After settling down in a comfortable apartment, Raoul had managed to find himself a job to support the both of them as an assistant at a law firm. Christine wished she could do something to be useful, but the truth was her English was woefully lamentable.

Suddnely, there was an insistant knocking at their front door. Instinctively, Christine squeezed Raoul hand tightly. "Who could be here at this hour?" She whispered, terrified. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

Raoul, on the other hand, was as calm as could be. "I don't know," he muttered, "but I'm going to check. Stay right here and be prepared to run."

Christine shook her head. "I'm coming with you," she stated firmly.

Raoul opened his mouth to argue, but the knocking grew louder. "Fine," he said, "but...if it's him...run. Don't stay with me." He let go of her hand before walking over to their drawer, grabbing his gun.

Christine nodded, for no other reason then to put his mind at ease, and rushed to his side. Gripping his hand tightly, the pair stood. Raoul lead the way toward the door, while Christine trailed behind him, her palms beginning to sweat.

Raoul carefully unlatched the door before hurriedly throwing open the door and aiming the gun, only to stand face to face with his brother. "This isn't the sort of greeting I expected," Philippe said dryly, eyeing the weapon.

Both Raoul and Christine sighed in relief, and Raoul let the gun drop. "Thank God it's you!"

Philippe didn't seem to be quite in the mood for a cheery reunion as he scrutinized Christine. "May I be allowed enterance into your home, brother?"

Raoul nodded, picking his gun up off the floor. "Christine, would you like to put some tea on?"

She nodded hurriedly, "Of course." Scampering off to the kitchen, she turned on their lights, finding the kettle.

"I must say, it's a shame you couldn't find a nicer place," the older de Chagny told his brother, clearly unimpressed with their apartment, "A de Chagny shouldn't be forced to dwell in the squalor."

"It wasn't quite possible," Raoul ground out, "And I happen to like this place."

Philippe made a noise of disgust. Christine, feeling a little more than defensive, seized the oppertunity to call out, "Would you like any milk or lemon?"

"No, thank you," Philippe answered cooly. "Never understood why anyone would ruin a perfectly good cup of tea in such a way."

"May I have a cup as well, Christine?" Raoul called out gently.

She couldn't help but smile. "Of course." She grabbed another cup, placing lemon in it, just how he liked it.

"So," Philippe said, allowing his voice to carry, "you've left your sisters and I to come live in England with a Swedish opera wench."

Christine's cheeks flushed a deep red as Raoul's fists clenched. "Don't call her that," he said sharply, "And there is a little more to the story then that."

His brother's arms crossed. "I'm dying to hear it. Especially since you've been gone for months now, giving me no explanation whatsoever."

Christine groaned internally. She had tried convincing Raoul to send a letter to his family before they'd left, but he was insistent that they make the most of their time, worrying Erik would find them. And, then once they had arrived, she'd begged him to send work. This time, he'd agreed to it, but clearly Philippe hadn't seen anything of such a thing.

"It's a rather messy tale," Raoul started, but Christine, more than a little incensed, interupted.

"I might as well tell him," she said, leaning forward on the back of his chair. "Why don't you check on the tea, darling, while I enlighten your brother?"

"If you're certain..."

"I am." Her tone was final. Raoul nodded, wearing an expression of both concern and confusion. Christine sympathized for a moment before taking his place in the chair. "Now. Where shall I begin?"

For the next hour or so, Christine explained to the curious Philippe of her mysterious disappearance, how her memory was lost, revealing the horrors she'd seen, the peaceful tranquility, her confusion and longing for friendship until, finally she reached the conclusion.

"The last thing we did was say goodbye to my guardian, Madame Valerius," Christine told him, her eyes a bit misty at this point. Raoul was watching the exchange with somberness. "I hadn't even remembered what she was like until I had come here. But I am indeed very sorry that we could not send any word to you." Christine decided against mentioning she had encouraged Raoul to write.

Philippe nodded solemnly. "I do say, you've certainly been through a lot."

"I wouldn't have been able to do it, if it weren't for Raoul's help."

He nodded again, deep in thought. Then, abruptly, he stood. "It is getting late. I ought to go to go find myself a place to stay."

"Why don't you stay in the second bedroom?" Christine suggested without thinking, "We never use it."

Philippe froze, a distastleful scowl upon his face. "Is that so?" He asked, turning to Raoul with an expression of disgust. Christine felt a rush of embarassment.

"She has nightmares," Raoul said stoically, "Anyone would."

The older de Chagny didn't seem convinced. "Which one is it?"

"The one to the left." Philippe walked towards it without looking back at the couple who was flushed with humiliation.

Once his door closed, Christine said, "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"You weren't lying, and neither was I," Raoul said automatically, "It isn't your fault his mind went to-"

"No, I mean this whole mess." She flopped down onto the chair gloomily. "Why would I ever think talking to a disembodied voice was a good idea?"

Raoul frowned. "That wasn't your fault, either."

Christine secretly disagreed, but decided not to voice it; he would only grow more upset. She'd been naïve, and it had cost everyone. It was a shame, she often thought, that Erik had not been able to get an ending more happy. Perhaps, she mused, in some other universe, he was to live a nice life, or even save his own soul. But instead, her and Raoul were to live in constant paranoia and Erik was to live alone. "So why didn't you write your brother?"

Raoul flushed. "I thought I had," he said sheepishly, "I must have forgotten to send it."

Christine groaned. "Oh, why, Raoul?"

"My memory hasn't been terribly good lately-"

"That makes two of us," Christine said jokingly, smiling when he laughed.

"I suppose it's because I've been so busy with work, it managed to slip my mind."

Christine winced. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

The pair sat in silence for a few moments, absorbed in their own thoughts. "I'm tired," Christine said, speaking finally. Indeed, she realized her eyelids were growing heavy.

Raoul smiled wearily. "I am as well." He chuckled, "It's only three thirty in the morning and it's been a long day."

Christine stifled a laugh, walking over to give him as a hug, inhaling deeply as his arms wrapped around her. "Are you going to come back to bed?" She asked, her voice muffled.

Raoul sighed. "I think maybe I should lay on the sofa, in case Philippe wakes up..."

Christine resisted letting out a loud, melodramatic sigh, and merely nodded defeatedly. "Alright," she said, trudging back towards their bedroom.

"I'm going to fetch a few blankets, if that's alright," Raoul said from behind her.

She turned around. "Of course."

Christine flopped down on the bed, her whole body tired. She heard Raoul wander in, grabbing a heavier blanket. "Goodnight," Raoul whispered, leaning in and kissing her forehead. "I love you."

Despite her exhaustion, she smiled before drifting back to sleep as Raoul closed the door.

* * *

Christine stumbled out into their living space, finding Philippe at the breakfast table, thumbing through a newspaper. "My brother left for work some time ago," he said, almost boredly as his eyes scanned the paper. Christine nodded silently; in truth, she'd been hoping to arise earlier so that she might see Raoul before he left for work.

"You can read English, then?" She said awkwardly, gesturing towards the paper in an attempt to make conversation.

He tore his eyes away from the paper to stare at her blankly. "Yes. As you can see."

"That must be nice. I only know a little, so it's a bit difficult at times," she rambled, seemingly unable to stop talking.

"Raoul mentioned something to that affect," Philippe said flippantly. Christine's gaze turned downward, as she shuffled over to the chair across from him. She knew, deep down, Philippe was trying to discourage her and that Raoul wouldn't make remarks about her to his brother, but hearing it like that hurt her feelings. "I told him that the two of you ought to move to Quebec."

Christine was jerked from her melancholy thoughts to give him a look of astonishment. "What? Why?"

"It'll be easier for you there, seeing as you are proficient in French, and not so much English. Besides, it was relatively easy for me to find the two of you here; I wouldn't doubt your captor could do the same."

She was puzzled. "I thought you didn't like me," she said before she could stop herself.

Philippe sighed, placing the newspaper down on the table, rubbing his temples. "I don't dislike you," he said wearily, "You do seem to be a very nice girl, and an excellent singer. And you are much stronger than what you would appear. However," he continued, "I don't believe it is proper that de Chagny should be with someone like you, no matter how good you are at singing and how kind you may be."

Christine felt her cheeks grow hot as she looked down at the table, blinking back tears. "But I know my brother well enough, and he loves you very much. He isn't going to give up on you just because I tell him to. So it appears as though I have no choice but to allow the two of you to wed."

"To wed?" Christine gaped. In truth, her and Raoul hadn't spoke much about marriage.

Philippe arched an eyebrow. "You do wish to marry my brother, correct?"

"Yes, sometime down the road, yes, but-"

"Well, the two of you can't beat around the bush for long! I don't know how I can properly emphasize how inappropriate is that the two of you are living together unmarried. So I highly reccomend that the two of you get around to it," He said, disgruntled, picking his newspaper back up, "The sooner, the better."

Erik glared darkly at the apartment building from the shadows as he watched Christine leave the building with a man who was too old to be the vicomte, but looked like him, nonetheless. As suggested by her demeanor, she was uncomfortable at the prospect of walking with the man, and by his rigid posture, he was enthusiastic as she was. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation, things about a local store and poor English skills.

Oh, his poor Christine. What a horrible life she must be leading, trapped in something as uneloquent as an apartment. He waited until the pair had disappeared from sight before hurrying across the street, and into the building. He hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He had to know what this dingy place the vicomte was keeping his Christine.

Much to Erik's displeasure, the apartment was quite well furnished. There were three chairs dispersed in the living area, along with a small table and sofa. The kitchen also had a small table; judging by the scent in the air, it appeared as thiugh they had just finished eating.

There were two doors Erik found, and he walked over to the one on the left. Peering inside, he saw an unmade bed, which contained nothing more than a suitcase. How strange. Closing the door, Erik found the next one, and the sight that met him caused his blood to boil.

This room was furnished quite well; a boudoir, a large bed (which was tidily made), and two wardrobes. The first one Erik ripped open, containing clothes that Erik presumed belonged to the dastardly vicomte. And, much to his despair, the second one contained attire that clearly belonged to a woman-Christine.

Drawing the worst possible conclusions, Erik walked over to the boudoir and angrily smashed the glass with his fist, relishing as he heard the sound of it shattering. Then, he raced out the the living room, and in a blind rage, destroyed everything he possibly could; flipping over chairs, tearing apart cushions and pillows...

He stalked out of the apartment, ten minutes later, intent upon returning to his apartment, where he would brood before returning later that evening to find Christine once more.

* * *

Philippe de Chagny certainly wasn't expecting to return to the apartment he'd spent the previous night destroyed, but that was exactly what happened. "My God," he said aloud, examining the damage of the place as Christine let out a horrified gasp.

"Erik. Erik did this." Her voice was trembling.

This was madness. They had only been gone half an hour at most, and the madman had already wrecked the place. "We must leave," he informed the now shaking girl, who had tears in her eyes. "Collect your possessions, and Raoul's as well, and we'll head to his office and tell him what happened. Then, we'll find ourselves a hotel to stay at. But one thing is for certain, we must depart immediately. Do you understand, Christine?" He asked, content when the poor girl nodded, walking into her home with a distrustful stance.

It only took a few minutes for he and Christine to collect their belongings, and Christine had left a note ("For the poor landlady," she explained quickly) and they hurriedly fetched a cab, where Christine stammered Raoul's address to driver. "I can't believe he's back," she said quietly as she stared down at her lap. Truthfully, Philippe felt a great amound of sympathy for the poor girl.

"It's apparent you are dealing with a mad man, Miss Daaé," Philippe said, unsure of what else to say. The truth was that the destroyed apartment had jarred him more than he was letting on.

Christine gasped. "Oh, God, what if he's gone to find Raoul to hurt him?" She exclaimed in horror, tears welling in her eyes.

A jolt of panic raced through him, but he realized he had to keep calm for the both of them. "I'm sure Raoul is fine," he said uneasily. Without really thinking about it, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him as she began to cry. "He's fine," he said again, hoping his words were true, for both of their sakes.

When they burst into Raoul's office, he let out a sigh of relief to see his younger brother, confused but intact and healthy as could be. "What's going on?" He asked as the tearful Christine wrapped him into a fierce embrace.

"He ruined our apartment!" Christine told him.

"We came to inform you that we are going to make arrangements at a hotel," he informed his brother quickly, hoping that the "he" Christine referred to was enough and Raoul wasn't thinking Philippe was the reason their home was no longer as safe environment. "Christine has taken your things for you. I am sorry, Raoul, but it wasn't safe to stay."

Raoul nodded somberly. "I understand. I'm going to come with you."

"But what about your job?" Christine asked.

"I don't really think I'll need it anymore," he said, thinking about what he and Philippe had agreed upon that morning.

"I can easily cover the tickets and the hotel for us," Philippe assured her, and he was pleased to see that his words brought a smile to Christine's face.

"Thank you," she said warmly, running up and hugging the older brother. He responded in kind, surprised by her sudden impulsiveness. Perhaps the Swedish girl joining his family was not going to be a bad thing after all.

* * *

There were no lights on in the de Chagny apartment. Perhaps, Erik pondered, they may have gone to bed already. Hurriedly, he crossed the street once more hurrying back up to the apartment he had destroyed mere hours ago.

There was nothing but darkness, but thankfully Erik could see just fine. The place was as he had left it, no attempts for cleaning it up. It appeared as though they had left. He sighed. Why was she resisting so? He looked in both bedrooms, seeing they were empty, and that the suitcase was gone, and so were a few clothes from the wardrobes.

Then, oddly enough, a piece of paper caught his eye. Anxiously, he saw the small slip, and pocketed it before departing the building once more.

Once he found himself in the dim light of the streetlight, he held out the slip of paper, reading its words, which were writted in feminine, but messy, scrawl.

 _I certainly hope you are proud of what you've done, ruining the one place I had left in the world to call my own. It's things like this that almost make me regret giving you forgiveness. Almost._

 _I have spent the last few months of my life, happy with the man I love, but dreams of my time with you still plague my mind, and I assure you, it isn't the happy times I remember. It's the ones where I am frightened, where I am confused, where I am unsure of who I am and what I am doing with myself. Where I feel guilty for not being a suitable enough wife._

 _I am nobody's wife, and I certainly not yours. You have, like this apartment, spoiled my innocence in life. And I swear, if you do anything to harm a hair on Raoul's head, I will revoke my statement of forgiveness and despise you until my dying day._

 _-Christine_

Erik dropped the letter to the ground. Rain began to fall from the sky.

* * *

Christine was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of their new, overlooking the sandy beach. It was beautiful, she thought, to be able to live somewhere so serene, somewhere so beautiful.

"Your tea," Raoul said from behind her, handing her a cup of the warm beverage.

"Thank you, darling," she said sweetly, sipping it carefully.

"Philippe arrived home safely," Raoul said, taking his place in his own chair beaming.

She smiled. "That's wonderful."

"Of course," Raoul said, "he joked about having to turn around almost immediately to come see the baby."

Christine smiled down adoringly at her large stomach. "Yes, he will. He'll want to see his nephew."

"Or niece," Raoul piped up indignantly.

Christine sighed. "It's going to be a boy."

"You don't know that yet."

"It's called a mother's intuition."

"I hope you'll remember that when you give birth to your daughter."

"I will. After we have our son." _Long after._ Not that it was exactly shocking news, but Christine had not anticipated on becoming a mother so soon after she had wed Raoul. But she knew in her heart she was going to love raising her baby.

Philippe had stayed with them for quite some time, helping them settle in their home before heading back to France. Christine had been awfully sad to see him go, as she had come to love him like a brother.

"What did your sisters say about the baby?" Christine asked.

Raoul sighed as his expression darkened. "Margot is pleased, of course. But Sybille..." he trailed off uneasily.

It wasn't much a surprise to Christine that his sister was not enthralled by the news of her pregnancy. She had been less than keen to hear that Philippe had allowed them to marry, but this was going to be another mark against her. "She can't be mad forever, Raoul," she said gently.

Raoul sighed. "She'll try, though."

"Will they come with Philippe after the baby is born?" She asked.

Another sigh. "Yes."

Christine stifled a laugh. As much as Raoul loved his sisters, he had emphasized how much he had grown tired of being treated like a small child. "It'll be nice."

He snorted. "I doubt it. I hope you are planning to be smothered and interrogated."

"Well," Christine said, "I have five months to go, so I have plenty of time to prepare," she responded cheekily, grinning.

A contented silence passed over the two of them. "Do you think they're safe?" Raoul asked quietly.

Christine didn't even have to question him to know what he meant. Obviously, even though Erik was an ocean apart, Raoul still was concerned for his family. "I believe so," Christine said reassuringly. She had never told him of the vicious letter she had written for Erik lest he come back to their apartment; she'd never seen the need. But seeing as he hadn't tracked them to their hotel that night, she was fairly certain he'd recieved the reprimanding he deserved.

"Do you think we ought to write Mr. Khan at some point?" She asked him suddenly.

Raoul shook his head. "What if he found it? He'd know where we were."

Christine sighed. "Perhaps."

"But," Raoul said, "perhaps you might write to my sisters? I am sure Margot would love to hear from you, and perhaps Sybille might change her opinion-"

"I'll do it," she answered immediately.

Raoul beamed. "Really?"

"Of course, you silly man," she said, setting her cup down. "In fact, I'll do it right now."

"Oh, there's no need-"

"Will you help me out, please?" She asked.

Raoul obliged, but kept insisting there was no need to get started right away. "But I want to!" She insisted.

"But why?"

"I want to do all that I can to ensure my baby has a peaceful family," she said calmly, "No drama. Nothing but love."

"Christine, you have five months to do that!"

"Raoul, honestly, you're being a tad bit ridiculous-"

"Me? You're as bad about this as you are as denying the fact our baby is going to be a girl-"

"Raoul, we are going to have a son!"

The two laughed as they walked back into the house, glad to be bickering over such trivial things, enjoying the domestic tranquility. It was, in Christine's opinion, the best marriage anyone could ever have.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"What shall we name our daughter?"

"Oh, Raoul, honestly!"

* * *

 **A/N: And that concludes Amnesia! I want to thank everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited; it means the world to me that you thought my story was worth your time.**

 **Now, on another note: I already have another POTO three-shot (that is quite lengthy) that is almost finished, and I hope you will consider perhaps reading it. For a brief background, it's a modern day Christine/OC, with a smidgen of R/C and even a tiny tiny bit of E/C, and I am very excited to post it. And if you don't want to read it, that's cool, too.**


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